Unnatural
by TheFarrari
Summary: When Mark Konners discovers he has the strange, unnatural power to control fire, he is thrust into a search for answers and self-discovery that will change his world forever...
1. Author's Note

This story has nothing to do with X-Men. It is a completely original work, however, as I did draw inspiration from the X-Men premise, as will be obvious, I have published it under X-Men. Regardless, I encourage you to read and offer opinions.


	2. Come to Me

He didn't know how it happened. He didn't know why it happened. All he knew was that it did happen.  
He was running. Running from what was not there. Imaginary white vans and black helicopters that he was sure were pursuing him at this very moment. And why? It had been an accident. That's all.  
Or maybe he was running for a different reason. Maybe he thought that, if he ran far enough, fast enough, that he could escape what had happened. Maybe his strange discovery would be rendered nothing more than a dream if he ran for miles, miles on end.  
Finally he stopped, out of breath. He stood between two rocks that jutted out of the ground, reaching towards the sky, as if grasping for freedom from their earthen prison.  
He looked back, seeing the plume of smoke behind him billowing into the air, creating clouds of ash and dust in the air. What has happened to me? He thought in despair, I'm not capable of this kind of destruction...am I?  
Yes came a voice next to him you are.  
He turned quickly, instincts flared, ready to fight. Next to him was a man. He wore a black trench coat and dark sunglasses, hiding his equally dark eyes. He wore a black satchel at his side, the strap draped over his shoulder. The man examined him for a few short seconds and, without saying a word, said, Come to me." He looked painfully familiar, as if he had seen this man before. Somewhere outside of his reality. From a dream, or something more surreal. The man disappeared.  
Mark Konners stood, perplexed. At this point he knew, he was certain, that he was dreaming. None of this could be possible. He told himself to wake up, to feel the familiar comfort of his bed and wake to a beautiful sunrise outside the window that lay before his feet. But he didn't wake. His eyes didn't open. All he could do was stand, staring at the pillar of smoke that rose before him, and recall the horrible events that had taken place over the past day.

Sector Two. That was what his Results had concluded. That he would be best here, harvesting fruit and butchering livestock for the rest of the Nation to eat. Nowhere else, according to the system, would he have any skills in any area. It seemed wrong, almost offensive. Mark watched as other students of the Sector 2 smiled and talked excitedly, almost all of them happy with their results. Mark knew that most of them would leave, each of them going to a different Sector.  
There were eight Sectors in the Nation Mark lived in, each producing a different item of consumption that the government saw necessary for life.  
Sector One provided the Nation with soldiers, police, and weapons. Supposedly, the Nation needed to be protected from something outside, and only the soldiers of Sector One and some elite members of the government knew exactly what it was.  
Sector Two, where Mark lived, manufactured food for the rest of the Nation. Sector Two was one of the largest Sectors, as acres and acres of land were required to house all of the fields of produce and herds of livestock. He didn't know why, but, for whatever reason, Mark hated it here. He felt a drive for freedom. He wanted new scenery, a new place to live, something to do besides picking fruit and packaging food. But he knew he would never be able to. Trying to transfer to another Sector was nearly impossible after the Education System told you where you belonged.  
Sector Three produced the Nation's largest amount of gasoline, while Sector Four created tools and vehicles that consumed Sector Three's gasoline, such as cars and airplanes.  
Sector Five produced electricity, allowing for communication to be possible.  
Sector Six gave the Nation everything involving the sea, as it lied on the Ocean. These included mainly boats and seafood.  
Sector Seven was the home to the smartest people in the Nation. In order to be transferred to Seven, you had to have near-perfect scores on the Transfer Test. If you were successful in Seven, you could have had the chance to be a teacher in the Educational System of any of the Sectors.  
Sector Eight produced the technology necessary for all of this to be possible. It made machines that allowed Sector Four vehicles to be manufactured at a much quicker rate than was average. It was the originator of the technology that made the laser gun possible.  
And then there was Sector Zero. Sector Zero was, basically, the government and all those who ruled in it, including the Nation's military generals, Governors of the Sectors, and the mysterious President Xandar and his personal guard. Sector Zero didn't have any physical location unless the President's Mansion, an extremely heavily guarded fortress where Xandar held his residence, could be counted. Sector Zero was simply the name the common folk of the Sectors had given to their oppressors long ago, who took on to the nickname quite well, going so far as to insist that they be called this. The President never came out of his Mansion, never went out in public, leading some to doubt his existence at all.  
Mark could have been transferred to any of these, with the exception of Sector Zero, of course, but was, instead, chosen to stay in Sector Two. That made him angry.  
"Mark!" Mark looked beside him, but he didn't need to. He knew who was coming. Only one person would ever speak to him without being introduced. Caleb Watkins, the one person in the entire System Mark could say he trusted without a doubt.  
Mark and Caleb were inseparable, had been for years. This was strange, mainly because of the many differences between the two, both physical and based on each individual's personality. Where Mark was a tall person, Caleb was short and scrawny. Mark was usually quiet and reserved, and Caleb was one of the most sociable people you could meet. Mark was two years older than Caleb. Yet, despite their differences, and despite all the people he knew, Caleb had chosen to trust Mark far more than any of the others in the System. Besides this, their brother-like relationship was a rather symbiotic one. People often tried to fight with Mark, who wanted nothing of harming people, despite his obvious ability to do so. When others verbally abused him, Caleb was always there with a quick and witty response. Caleb, however, found it easy to be physically abused, due to his short stature and smart mouth, in which case Mark forgot all about his pacifistic nature and defended his friend.  
"What'd you get?" asked Caleb, sitting next to Mark.  
Mark looked down at his Result sheet.  
"Two," he responded through gritted teeth, "You?"  
"I got One," Caleb said, "Kind of happy with my results, honestly."  
"You?" said Mark, almost bursting out into laughter, "A soldier?" Mark had a hard time picturing the scrawny fifteen-year-old in a white uniform, a rifle strapped to his back, standing at attention.  
"Apparently," Caleb responded.  
"When are you leaving?" asked Mark, although he knew the answer.  
"They're giving me a week to pack up. Then I'll have to wait for someone to take me."  
"So you don't know exactly."  
"Not really."  
"What about Nellie?" Nellie Reed was another friend, at least to Mark. To Caleb, she was more. He had been a secret admirer for a while, and had recently left the 'secret' part behind. Caleb and Nellie had begun dating, and, while it was just an assumption, for Mark didn't ask for details concerning the relationship, Mark thought it was going well. Caleb looked behind him, looking at Nellie, who sat about ten yards away, studying her Results.  
"I doubt she'll be coming with me," he said, a sad tone in his voice, "But I think I've got a plan. I'll figure out where she's going and, when I get to One, I'll do my best to be transferred to where she goes. I won't be able to live there permanently, but at least I'll be able to see her."  
Mark just nodded. When it came to relationship advice, he was a horrible mentor  
"I'm going to go see her," he said, "See you later."  
"See you," said Mark, standing up, beginning to walk home.

Mark couldn't sleep that night. Part of the reason was that he was frustrated at the news of Caleb's departure. It was going to be difficult without Caleb, without someone he could trust. But there was another reason. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw a face. A face of someone else, someone who looked his age. The man was fighting something. The person screamed at him, calling to him for help. Come to me, he pleaded.  
Frustrated, Mark grabbed a book from his shelf and walked downstairs. He began reading. It was an old story, written in a time far prior to his time. Others in the System would probably make fun of him for reading it.  
Most people, except for Caleb.  
It was a story about a girl. Genetically, she was different from most of the others around her. She was able to usurp the authority of the tyrannical government that was falling to pieces around her, allowing her to escape their grip. She did so with the help of others who were like her. But, in the end, she gave her life to save the people, even some of the oppressors, of her country from annihilation.  
Mark sat in front of their fireplace. On a cold September night like this, the fire felt good, warming his skin as he read the story he'd read so many times over and over again. The wet wood of the fire popped, sending sparks everywhere. The tiny specks of light flew across the room, illuminating the dark, grey walls, making them dance with beautiful light. However, these sparks did not go out as they usually did. Instead, they froze in place. Mark watched in perplexed wonder as one of the sparks made a straight line for another, combining the two. The larger spark then moved to another, then another, then another, the speed of its travel becoming faster and faster with each spark being added to the inferno. Once all of the sparks had been combined into one huge ball of fire, it turned and flew towards Mark. Mark jumped up, trying to dodge the flame. The main part of his body evaded the fire, but he wasn't fast enough to move his hand out of the way. The fire took hold on his hand. Mark dropped his book, which was now in flames. The fire caught on the carpet, the flame shooting up. Mark could hear the loud screeching of the houses fire alarms, but just barely. The rest of the world seemed to drown out as he studied his hand in horror. It was covered in fire, but he neither felt nor saw any pain. In fact, he felt just the opposite. He felt power. He heard someone yelling at him, jolting him back into reality. He looked behind him, seeing his mother, Amy, on their stairs, gaping at the sight of his hand. Mark looked in her eyes and ran.

He ran out the door, ran past the Sector Two Boundary, and ran for miles and miles on end, trying to comprehend how and why such a thing was possible.

And there he stood, watching smoke billow into the sky. For how long, he did not know; time seemed to be irrelevant to him now, such an insignificant thing compared to the consequences of the day's events. Was he suspected of the accidental arson? If so, would Caleb be safe? He was the only one, aside from his family, that Mark had been close to. Would they come after him? They must know that he crossed the border of Sector Two. Even if, somehow, the fire wasn't his fault, or nobody knew it was, he had broken the law already. He couldn't show his face anywhere; to anybody. Maybe they would think he had died in the fire, leaving him safe, for now. Where would he go? To where would he come?  
Come to me.  
That voice again. Mark couldn't get it out of his head, couldn't ignore it. Perhaps he should heed the voice's instructions. Maybe they were, somehow, being sent by another person.  
Come to me. Sector Three.  
Sector Three? Why there? At least it wasn't that far; Mark could see it in the distance. Who could be there to help him? And why would they help him? Or maybe they wanted to hurt him; maybe it was the government trying to trap him, capture him for his crimes. No, that couldn't be it; the voice had begun before Mark had set the fire.  
But it was his only option. He couldn't go anywhere; he didn't know how to survive outside the Nation. All he could see for miles and miles was a huge, grassy field, trees and rocks occasionally dotting the horizon, but, outside of the field, he didn't know what existed. Or, maybe, nothing existed. Maybe it was just a barren, grey land. Or maybe there was literally nothing there at all. Perhaps, outside the boundaries of the nation, a huge cliff dropped, plummeting down, down, into a dark, endless void.  
Mark couldn't go back; people might be looking for him, suspecting him of arson. He couldn't go outside the country; he didn't know what existed out there, didn't know how to survive the environment. So there was only one option:  
Come to me. Sector Three.


	3. Pyrokenesis

Mark didn't know how long he had been running, again. He just knew that he had been. The sun was up high when he passed a sign that read: Border of Sector Three. Do not cross. It must have been around noon, or shortly thereafter.  
He slowed down and, shortly, houses started to appear, more and more with each minute. Mark decided to go around the houses instead of in front of them, trying not to attract much attention, but quickly learned that that wasn't a great idea.  
Mark saw a person standing behind a house. As he approached, Mark saw the man in the white uniform of a soldier. They had soldiers here, now? Mark could understand patrols, but usually they were police officers. Soldiers usually had more advanced training than the police, and more advanced weapons.  
Mark decided to try to sneak around him, sneak around the house, trying to avoid a confrontation. He didn't get far. As he began to walk away, he heard a click and the hum of the soldier's gun gathering energy to use as ammunition. "Put your hands in the air!" Mark heard.  
He turned around. The soldier had his gun trained on Mark. "Now!" Mark took a step forward, and another. Suddenly, everything seemed to slow down. Mark rushed forward, coming at the man. He let off several shots of energy, but the moved slowly, as if weighed down. Mark easily dodged them, moving at incredible speed. Suddenly, he was at the soldier's side. The man swung the rifle at him, but Mark ducked, going into a roll. When he rolled, he reached up, grabbing the soldier's pistol from its holster. Mark came up, leveling the pistol at the back of the soldier's neck. "Put the gun down!" Mark said, hands shaking. He couldn't remember when he'd last held a gun; much less point it at another person's head. The soldier kneeled slowly, resting his gun on the dirt. He stood up slowly, hands above his head. He turned around, and something metal fell out of his hand. Mark looked down and saw that it was some sort of…pin.  
Mark looked back up at the soldier. "Die, unnatural scum," the soldier said, a round, black object in his hand.  
Suddenly, all Mark could see was darkness.

Her parents were gone. Finally. She could be alone, free from the abusive nature of her parents.  
But not for long, she knew. She had only twenty minutes to herself.  
She thought of packing her backs. Just leaving. But where would she go? She couldn't leave Sector Three. Her Results Test had made sure that she would stay here forever, to be tortured eternally in the hell that was her home. Even though she knew she would move as far away as possible when the time came, Phoebe Burton knew she could never escape. Her life would consist of cringing every time the door opened, waiting in dread for her parents to arrive.  
What would she do in her few moments of freedom?  
I can give you freedom came a voice Come to me.  
That voice again! It had haunted Phoebe since last night, making her unable to sleep, which, of course, had angered her parents, as everything did. It always said that; Come to me, always promising her liberty. She would go, would leave everything, even though she had nothing to leave, and follow this voice, if only she knew it were real.  
Phoebe heard a crash, making her jump nearly out of her skin. No, not a crash. An explosion. She pushed open the back door, running out of her house. A man laid in the field outside her house, unconscious, the grass around him burnt and burning in some places. Around him, various pieces of a soldier's armor were scattered. She knelt down, investigating him. He seemed around her age, but obviously not from around there. He didn't wear the thin, black clothes that the natives of Sector Three usually wore, but, instead, wore a white, loose fitting shirt, made to reflect the sun in on a hot day. Instead of the horrible odor of gasoline, he smelled of fields and livestock. Sector Two, she realized. She heard a slam behind her. She looked back and saw with horrible realization that her father had returned.

Mark opened his eyes, blinking out the sudden light. He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating, but he was sure that he saw a face. A beautiful face, a familiar face. He felt like he had seen this girl before. Like they had been through something together. He just couldn't figure out what, or when. Mark heard a voice and saw the girl stand and run. He sat up, watching her as she went. She ran to a man, pointing in his direction. The man just shook his head and grabbed the girl's arm, dragging her inside. Mark stood, another wave of confusion washing over him.  
He had just survived a grenade explosion.  
How? How could that be possible?  
How could any of it be possible?  
"Because you're a freak," a voice behind Mark said. Mark jumped and turned. Behind him was that man he had seen earlier, with the black trench coat and the dark glasses. "Like me."  
"You're the one," Mark said, pointing at him, "Who's been telling me to come."  
"Byron Peters," he said, "And, yes, I am."  
"So how is this all possible?"  
"To tell you the truth," Byron said, shrugging, "I have no idea. At least, no idea for sure."  
"But you promised me!" exclaimed Mark, "You promised me answers!"  
"At what point did I say that?" asked Byron, "I may not have a straight answer, but I do have theories."  
"Then what do your 'theories' say about that?" said Mark, "How did I survive that explosion?"  
"Oh, that?" said Byron, as if the answer were obvious, "I know that. You possess Pyrokinesis; a telekinetic ability allowing the user to control, and, sometimes, spontaneously create, using the energy in his environment, fire with his mind. Given your ability, I would say that you survived because Pyrokinesis also lets you become immune to fire; basically, you instinctively put a fire shield around yourself, rendering you unharmed. However, you were not immune to the force of the blast, causing you to go unconscious."  
"Let me guess," said Mark, chuckling, "Sector Seven."  
"What makes you say that?"  
"You're talking like a nerd."  
"Perhaps my eloquent speech provides substantial evidence for my vastly superior intellect."  
"So I can control fire and I can't be hurt by it?"  
"Basically."  
"You said you were a freak, too. Do you mean that you can do things like me?"  
"Not exactly. I am a telepath. I can read people's thoughts and project my own into another person's. With a bit of exercise, I believe I could train myself to allow other people to give their thoughts to me through mental means."  
"So, why couldn't I do any of this before last night?"  
"That I do not know," said Byron, as if frustrated, "There are several theories as to why people could possess such powers, though. For instance, some speculate an extra-terrestrial race came to our Nation in disguise and infected us. I highly doubt this is true. There've never been any instances where people have just shown up off-record since the founding of our country. Some theorize that the government is attempting to create a weapon to keep citizens in check, but that couldn't be true; how would we not be under captivity by the government from birth if this were true? I also remember reading this one book, if you can call it that, that suggested human evolution, putting a fictional account to this theory, where the humans naturally gained a new type of gene called the X-"  
A crash from around the front of the house stopped Byron before he could keep rambling.  
"Ah," he said, "I believe we've found our next companion."  
"What?"  
"Phoebe Burton."


	4. Ferrokenesis

Phoebe couldn't begin to understand what was happening. She had just run outside, trying to evade her father, and suddenly stopped. She had felt a surge of energy and turned around to see her father rushing through the door at her, his short, fat legs carrying him as fast as they could. She felt something behind her, as if it were a part of her body. Instinctively she threw it forward as if she were throwing her arm forward, willing it to smack her father across the skull. When the thing came into view, Phoebe saw that it was a street lamp, about seven feet high. Phoebe tried to stop it, knowing that serious injury would come to her father if she didn't, but the lamp kept going. The order had already been given. Or maybe Phoebe really didn't want to stop it. Perhaps she wanted revenge. To punch him across the face with just as much force as he had hit her in the past. And so she did. Her father went down in a heap, a metal street lamp on him.  
Suddenly, Phoebe felt more and more. She felt as through her entire surroundings were a part of her, each metal object an extension of here body that she could use at her will. Her head exploded in a flurry of action, locating each metal object in the vicinity, calculating how she could to use it to what extent and for what purpose.  
Phoebe didn't care about using the objects, but they seemed to have a different purpose. They all tugged at her, drawing her in like a magnet. Or maybe she was drawing them in. Phoebe tried to remain composed, to concentrate. She knew if she ignored them, they would all come down on her, rushing through the air, crashing through buildings and endangering other people. She couldn't panic, couldn't think about how or when or why, not yet, not until this feeling passed.  
If it ever passed.  
Phoebe pushed the thought out of her head. Her breath quickened as she saw her father awakening, an angry look on his face as he tried to push the lamp off his back. She had to concentrate. Couldn't focus on anything else, couldn't be distracted, couldn't-  
Phoebe  
Then chaos broke out. Metal pipes dug themselves up from the ground, stopping only when they reached their limits. Cars vaulted into the air, street signs flew towards her. Knives and other kitchen equipment burst through the windows of Phoebe's house and began to orbit her body. The street lamp that was on her father flew up, straight through the house awning. Windows burst as their supports were ripped out. Doors flew open and shut, crashing out of their hinges. People screamed. Phoebe could hear sirens in the distance.  
It was then that she panicked. She began running, but that was a worse idea. Wherever she stepped, the ground burst open with metal and more objects flew at her as if she was exhibiting a gravitational pull. She looked around, searching for the person who had said her name.  
No, not said her name. Thought it. Phoebe hadn't heard the word, the thought had been forced into her head, as if someone was giving her something to think, and she had no choice but to think it in the exact tone and length that she had been instructed to.  
Given the events of the day, Phoebe didn't doubt for a second the possibility, or even probability, of the idea.  
Two police cars rounded the corner of her street. She stepped back, but they were upon her in a second, sirens blaring. However, they presented little danger, for, as soon as they came close to her, they flew up in the air, flipping and turning in the sky.  
Then she saw them. Rounding the same corner walked two people, but, instead of screaming and fleeing at the sight of a girl with cars as her umbrella or random kitchen equipment orbiting her body, they just stood.

"Ferrokinesis," Byron said, "I knew it."  
"What?" Mark said, once again perplexed by the illustrious speech coming from the former scientist's mouth.  
Byron frowned. Were the natives from the other Sectors seriously so inferior in their knowledge of the language? Did they not understand the simplest of definitions? He could have sworn that half of the words Mark had said to him so far had been that same word; "What?" The other half had been mocking him.  
"Ferrokinesis," Byron replied, remaining patient with the apparent invalid, "The telekinetic ability to control metal with one's mind. Just as you can control fire, Phoebe can control metal." He was trying to keep his communication simple, now.  
"She was the one who woke me up," Mark said, realizing the identity of their new partner, "After the explosion."  
"Yes," replied Byron, as if the answer were obvious. How could Mark not have realized this by now? Oh, wait…he wasn't a telepath. He wasn't able to know a person's identity and memories just by looking them in the eye.  
"So…are we going to go get her or do you expect her to just come to us, or…what?"  
"A little anxious, eh, Mark?" said Byron, winking.  
"I just want to get this over with, that's all," Mark said defensively.  
"It's not a good idea to lie to a telepath, Mark," Byron said, chuckling, "They could reveal all your secrets and you wouldn't know until it were too late."  
"Shut up."  
Byron laughed. He could sense Mark's attraction to the newcomer; he didn't, really, even need telekinesis to help him. Mark wasn't very subtle.  
"We've gotten her attention," Byron said, changing the subject to their current situation, but for a second, "Which I think you'd be glad to hear." Mark's murderous look stopped Byron from pressing any further.  
"I'm going to begin communicating with her, try to tell her how to control her ability." Mark nodded his approval.  
Byron slipped into his mind. Closed his eyes, burrowing his concentration deep inside himself, enabling him to project his consciousness into another's, in this case, Phoebe's.  
Phoebe he said Don't be afraid  
Phoebe jumped in the distance, staring at him. His mind was silent for a second, but he knew Phoebe was intelligent enough to know, or at least think, of what was going on.  
You're the one she thought back to him you're the one who was in my head last night!  
Byron Peters he thought back, smiling, but, as is obvious, this is not the time for introduction. I promised you freedom, and I'm here to help you now.  
Silence.  
I can feel your fear Byron said your fear of your ability. I can explain in further detail what it is later, but for now, know this: Your power is not something to dread. You can control it; you have already begun to do so. For now, just concentrate on putting everything down, on leaving it in its place.  
Byron knew that Phoebe understood the meaning beyond his instruction.  
Slowly objects began to fall. Cars floated down onto the street, bent and battered from their time in the sky. Lawn equipment settled onto the ground surrounding Phoebe with a quiet crash.  
The first time is always the hardest Byron said to her, it should be easier to control your power now.  
But what now? Phoebe asked. Byron knew what she meant. She couldn't stay; she would be abandoned by her family, captured by the government. Byron had felt that way when he had- no. He would not bring up that memory. But he did know Phoebe's only choice: to run, to flee the country with him and the others that existed around the Nation.  
Come with me Byron said, repeating the words he had thought so many times to her and Mark, I can give you freedom.

Phoebe ran forward, running at a speed that seemed impossible.  
"What'd you say to her?" Mark asked, wondering about the silent conversation that had just taken place.  
"I told her how to control her power," Byron said flatly.  
For some reason, Mark doubted that was all that had been conversed.  
His suspicions were confirmed when Phoebe finally reached them, throwing her arms around Byron in a hug.  
"Thank you," she said, tears at the edges of her eyes, "Thank you so much!"  
Byron looked up at Mark. If only looks could kill. Byron smiled.  
Phoebe let go of Byron and looked up at Mark. She was much shorter than he was, but most people were. She looked a year or so younger than he.  
"What do you do?" she asked.  
"What?" Mark said.  
"He says that a lot," Byron replied.  
Mark glared, yet again, at Byron. He was beginning to remind him of Caleb, with his short stature and smart mouth.  
"No, what do mean?"  
"Byron can talk to people's minds," Phoebe said, "what do you do?"  
"Oh, I can, uh, control fire," Mark replied. Phoebe nodded.  
Suddenly, sirens blared in the distance.  
"We need to leave," said Byron, "We should get to Sector Four as soon as possible."  
As they began to hike, Mark tripped over something. He looked down at it, and saw a metal lighter on the ground. He looked up. Neither Byron nor Phoebe was watching. He picked up the lighter and slid it into his pocket, not knowing how much that one discreet action would cost him in the future, or how so small a thing would cause such turmoil.  
One such instance happened immediately. Three police cars rounded the corner to the street that they were walking on. Mark decided that he would use his lighter to test it out. He struck a flame and willed it to travel into his palm. He threw it forward at the cars, not trying to hit them, just to make an impenetrable wall, but he forgot that Sector Three was the Gas Sector. The fire hit a gas tank, exploding with a loud bang. Three houses went up in flames, and Mark jumped back in horror. He heard people screaming because of him.  
What had he done? He had just killed innocent people. Mark stood, frozen, watching the police come out of their cars, nervous, their guns pointed in Mark's direction. Byron grabbed Mark's shoulder and shook him out of his trance. Mark turned and ran.  
Soon, they were out of Sector Three. Mark stopped after a little while of running.  
"What did I just do?" he whispered to himself.  
Byron looked back at him. "Mark, believe me, I know what you're going through. What you need to-"  
"No, Byron! You don't! I just killed families! Children! Innocent people! They're all dead, because I did something stupid!"  
"You think I've never done anything that hurt somebody because of my ability?" said Byron calmly, "You have no idea the pain I've caused because I am different."  
"Do you have any idea what I just did?" Mark repeated, still in shock.  
"Yes, Mark, I do, but I also know that you have to move past it. Someday, we will have the chance to make it up to these people; we will repay them one day. But not today. Today we have to keep going. We have to keep running, or else we may never have the chance to make it up to them. Trust me, Mark."  
Mark looked Byron in the eye, nodding. "Okay."

So the three began to walk, Mark and Phoebe trading their experiences as they did. Byron, however, remained silent. He would never tell them his secret, never converse with them on his discovery of his ability, not now, not until his goals had been accomplished and they were safe.

They walked out of Sector Three and through the vast plain that existed outside the Sectors for hours and hours. When Sector Four finally came into sight, it was nearly dark. They stopped for a moment, marveling at the sight of the Sector. Lights blinked on and off in the tall, white buildings that rose for nearly a mile off the ground. Airplanes dotted the horizon, the products of Sector Four's manufacturing business. In the center of the Sector was a glass dome.  
"That's where we'll need to go," said Byron, pointing to the dome.  
"Why?" asked Mark.  
"That's Sector Four's Work Center. Sector Four, due to their immense amount of manufacturing, require great manpower to accomplish their tasks. Sector Four, then, has everyone able to work in their work force. Each day, every worker is required to check in to the Work Center. I believe that that is where we'll find our next companion."  
"You've done your homework."  
Byron was about to give a smart reply, but Phoebe interrupted him.  
"What do we have in the ways of food?" she asked.  
"I'm surprised that you didn't ask that, Mark," Byron said, achieving glares from both Mark and Phoebe.  
"Honestly, though," Byron said, "Not much."  
Byron reached into his satchel and brought out two apples, bruised and beaten. "Just these. We'll get something else in Sector Four, hopefully." He tossed the apples to them.  
"What about you?" Phoebe asked.  
"I don't need anything," Byron said flatly. Phoebe looked at him, a disbelieving tone in both her gaze and thoughts. Byron wondered for a moment if she, too, was a telepath, she was good at reading emotions and telling when people were lying. Not that Byron was good at hiding his emotions, though. He had known that since-no. Not that memory either.  
Sometimes Byron was glad that he was a telepath. He was able to be lost in other people's memories, other people's lives. That made it so much easier to forget his own. To leave behind the pain, the suffering, of his past.  
He lowered himself again, moving his consciousness deep inside his mind. Perhaps he could search for their next partner. Look through the entire mental population of Sector Four, forgetting his horrible memories. He shifted his mind through the populace of the Sector, looking for one that was different, one that described traits like that of his own.  
And then he found him. Stephen Jaxon. Stephen was moving out of the Work Center, going through the back halls and exits. Not moving, Byron realized. Running. Running from something, running from shouts. Much like when he had seen Mark in the field outside Sector Two. He had discovered his ability, but refused to think about it, seemingly knowing that Byron was inside him and rejecting him.  
Stephen Byron projected his thoughts to him.  
Stephen rounded a corner to a door with an exit sign over it. He ran forward with all possible speed, which seemed to be an incredible one, but, before he could reach the door, someone opened it for him.  
Do not be afraid Byron continued.  
In came a soldier, rifle aimed at Stephen. Stephen still rushed forward, unable to stop. Then he was gone. Stephen's mind was gone; Byron had been pushed out.  
Byron's eyes snapped open. What had happened to Stephen? Was he still alive? Was this part of his ability? Could he push Byron out? How could he have done it?  
Then Byron realized: It was dark out. He had been under for nearly three hours, given the position of the moon. He saw Phoebe, asleep on the ground nearby. Byron knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He had barely gotten any in the past week. He'd been on the run, searching for others like him. He had found them, but he knew that this wasn't even near the amount of companions he would have to gather to prevent every one of their deaths. He estimated that there were at least eight scattered around the Nation, one for each Sector, but there were, perhaps, more. He, Mark, and Phoebe had already been united, and now Byron couldn't locate the mind of Stephen Jaxon. If Stephen were dead, like Byron suspected, there would only be four more. Byron realized then a flaw or, at least, a complication in his plan. He should've gathered Phoebe first, instead of focusing on Mark, and worked his way back from there, going to Sector Two, and then Sector One. Now he would have to go to all the way to Sector Eight and then travel all the way back to Sector One. Then he would have all eight of them, and then Byron could accomplish his goal.  
Mark wasn't sleeping well, either. He sat up, silent. He saw Byron sitting down, seemingly focusing.  
"Why don't we just fight back?" he said, wanting to make conversation.  
"Excuse me?" said Byron, surprised by Mark's voice.  
"Why are we running?"  
"I still don't understand."  
"Why are we running from the government? We could just fight back. Get all of us together and fight back."  
"I doubt that would be wise, Mark."  
"Why not? We would be better rulers than those who are in Sector Zero, now."  
"Not necessarily. Power can do strange things to people, Mark. Besides, you see the current government as tyrannical now, correct? If people saw you destroying Sector Zero out of cold blood, they would begin to see you as you see them right now. Doing such a thing would make you seem cruel and unusual to the populace, and, in time, somebody would rise up against you. Somebody you could not defeat."  
"Whatever," Mark said, "I'm going to sleep."  
Byron sat on the ground for hours and hours, thinking. That was all he ever did anymore. And, sometimes, when he thought, the memories came back. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, he never could. He had learned how to deal with them, had learned to just let them happen, but they still frightened him.  
Mark woke before the sun came up. He groaned in pain, discomfort shooting up his spine.  
"Back hurt?" Byron said.  
Mark nodded.  
"Happens on everyone's first night outside," Byron said.  
"Do you know what we're doing now?" Mark asked, sitting up.  
"More or less," Byron said, frowning, "I found the person we're looking for, but he disappeared."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I had his mind, but then I lost it. It's like I was shoved out, or like his mind didn't exist anymore."  
"Do you think he died?"  
"I'm afraid I do. However, I also think that it could be a part of his ability. We're still going to look for him, though."  
Mark nods again.  
"I have a question, Byron," Mark said, "Why are you gathering us? Why are we all getting into this big group?"  
"I'm doing this to protect you," Byron said.  
"But, what are you going to do once we're all together?" He asked.  
Byron was silent. He was reluctant to let anyone know, but Mark had a right to know, he thought.  
"Once I've gathered everyone," he said, slowly, "We're going to leave. We're going to leave the Nation, leave our homes, leave everything, and we're going to live outside, outside of the government's sphere of influence, somewhere they won't be able to hurt us.  
After a pause, Mark said, "You know what's out there, then? Something beyond the Nation?"  
"I don't know for sure," Byron admitted, "But I do know that there's not nothing. Something has to be out there. The world just can't drop off into nothingness, into a bottomless pit. There has to be something. We're going to find out what."  
Mark was silent. Phoebe began to wake. "We need to get going," Byron said, "We need to find Stephen Jaxon."


	5. Teleportation

As they approached the Sector Four Boundary Marker, they began to come up with a plan.  
"How will we remain out of sight?" Phoebe asked, "Won't they be looking for us?"  
"I've got that under control," Byron said, "I can project a mental image to everyone within eye's sight, making them see something else. However, this will take up the majority of my concentration, which will leave most of the talking to you two."  
"Talking?" said Mark.  
"We're going to enter the Sector Four Work Center and ask for Stephen Jaxon. They will likely point us in the general direction if I was wrong and if he's alive and working."  
"What if you were right?"  
"I'm glad you're recognizing the probability of my precision. In the case that Stephen is dead or captured, we'll have to fight our way out and look for Stephen a different way."  
"Wonderful," replied Phoebe sarcastically.

They approached the Work Center slowly. So far there hadn't been any incidents, but, to Mark, it felt like the calm before a storm. For some reason, he felt tension building around him, as if the entire Sector was holding its breath.  
But, when they reached the Work Center, what they saw surprised them. In front of the main entrance was a squad of police cars, sirens flashing. Security guards ran in different directions. In the distance, Mark could see a pillar of smoke rising behind the Work Center.  
"Byron," Mark whispered. Byron looked up and understood. He began to walk towards an alley. Phoebe and Mark followed him.  
"I've got it under control," he said, "Just follow me and keep quiet."  
They did so, and Byron led them straight to the main entrance. When they tried to go inside, a security guard stopped them.  
"We apologize for the inconvenience, sir," the guard said, "But there's been an incident, and the Work Center is closed until further notice."  
Byron reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Byron Peters," he said, "Secret Services Agent, Level Three. My colleagues and I have been sent here to investigate." The guard studied the card for an excruciating eternity in a few seconds.  
"Byron Peters," the guard said, handing the card back, "Former Secret Service Agent." The guard pulled his pistol from its holster.  
"Shibboleth?" said Byron.  
"You're under arrest," he said, aiming it at Byron's forehead. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. He lowered the gun. Mark looked behind them. There, standing, grinning was a man. Or, at least, he had the general physique of a man. He had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head, but the similarities stopped there. Where normal human lips would be was a thin crack in his face, the line turned upwards in a sickly grin. His eyes were yellow and bloodshot, seemingly glowing. His skin was yellow and covered in something…not flesh, it seemed more like scales. His hairy was thin and stringy, tangled and twisted. His long fingers ended in claws.  
Even though he didn't look like much to Mark, the man…creature…thing still seemed to intimidate him.  
"Is there a problem, officer?" the man said, his voice high, grating on Phoebe's ears.  
"N-no, sir, n-none at all," the guard said, dropping his weapon, shaking in fear. The man seemed to be outputting some sort of field, some kind of aura, of pure fear. Phoebe could feel it, and it was obvious from the guard's constant quivering that he did, as well.  
"Good," the man said, "But I don't think you're telling the truth." The guard nearly fainted.  
"However," the man continued, "I'm feeling generous today, so, not only will I let you live another day, I'll even take these three off your hands."  
"Oh, t-thank you, s-so much, sir," said the guard, slinking away on the verge of tears.  
Now Phoebe didn't feel as much afraid as she did disturbed.  
"Come with me, children," the man said, beckoning to them. Phoebe looked at Byron, who informed her, despite his puzzled look, to do as he said. They followed close behind them man. A crowd had gathered around the Work Center, but they parted as soon as they saw the man and his companions approaching. The man smiled evilly at them as he walked through; as if he were their master and they were his slaves. He led them into an ally, not speaking to them, almost as if he didn't acknowledge their existence. When they reached the ally, he turned to them on his heel and looked at them.  
"So you're the ones Sector Zero wants," he said, grinning. Phoebe, Byron, and Mark were silent, eyeing this strange man intently.  
"I must say, you're going for quite the bounty, now, even though it's been barely twenty-four hours since you've made your public arrival," he continued.  
"Are you going to turn us in, then?" came Phoebe's reply, without her authorizing it, "Because you might think twice about it."  
"Oh, but I have," the man said, "I've thought more than twice about it. More than thrice, even. And, no. I'm not going to turn you in, or kill you, even though it is tempting. I could do it so easily. In fact, I'm going to help you."  
"Help us?"  
"Absolutely! Not only have I swooped in and rushed you safely away from the grasps of the government already, but I shall also send you speedily on your way."  
"You know were Stephen Jaxon is?" asked Byron.  
"I know where he is," the man said, "But, no, Byron Peters, I will not help you find him. Unless, of course, you were willing to pay me something in return." Phoebe didn't think it possible, but the man's smile became even wider, as if he was playing with puppets and having the time of his life.  
"What price?" said Byron.  
The man stopped smiling and frowned, as if thoughtful. After a long pause, his smile came back on and he said enthusiastically, "A box of hot chocolate mix!"  
"W-wait, what?" said Byron, wondering if he had heard right.  
"A box of hot chocolate mix!" the man said again, laughing. Phoebe was sure she'd need hearing aids after this; the sound was so loud and incredibly horrible. "I do so love that stuff!"  
"So…wait, let me get this straight," Byron said, blinking, "If we bring you a box of hot chocolate mix, you'll help us find Stephen Jaxon?"  
"Do we have an agreement?"  
"Um…ok?" said Byron, still confused, "But from where?"  
The man rolled his eyes and said, "Duh! We're standing behind the market!"  
Byron took a nervous step away from the man.  
"Trust me," said the man, "You don't want to break this deal! Don't try to run off."  
The three walked off anxiously.

Byron felt disturbed. Was this the life he was going to live now? Trying to run, but running in to strange characters and troubling people?  
It wasn't just the man's appearance that had unsettled Byron, though. When Byron tried to get into the man's mind, he had run into a brick wall. Or, rather, a dark pit, for there seemed to be nothing there. It was as if this man had no mind, thoughts, or memories at all. His consciousness was an empty void.  
Byron looked behind him. He had walked a considerable distance ahead of Mark and Phoebe. They were talking, laughing, in the distance behind him. How? How could they have come out of such a harrowing experience this joyful?  
Byron knew why. He had felt that way once. When he had been with her-no. Not the memories again. Byron looked ahead of him, losing himself, going deeper into recollection.

Veronica was her name. The one Byron refused to think of. The only one he had ever been close to. They had been friends since who knows when. They had excelled in the Sector Seven Academy at incredible rates, and both, preferring studying to being social, had collaborated with each other, helping one another in their education. Soon they had formed a bond that would be hard, but not impossible, to break. They had even built a part laboratory, part underground bunker together, a project that lasted for years, but, when finished, became their sort of hideout, a place to get away from the world outside. But his discoveries down in this lab had led to a disaster.

A hand on Byron's shoulder jolted him awake. Byron brought his arm up, ready to fight if necessary. Byron took in his surroundings. During his Dive, as he called the instances where he swam deeper into his past, he had walked into the market the man had told him of, and was now standing in an aisle, a large assortment of drink mixes, including hot chocolate, laid out to his left and right.  
Byron looked behind him to the person who had grabbed his shoulder. Instead of seeing a police officer or security guard, as he had expected, he saw a familiar face. Before him stood a seventeen-year-old boy who was roughly the same height as Byron. His short, black hair stood up in all different directions and dark circles hung below his eyes. He wore a loose fitting shirt and jacket.  
"You," said Stephen Jaxon, "You're the one who talked to me."  
"You're alive!" Byron cried, "This is amazing!"  
"What?" said Stephen, obviously confused at the nature of Byron's outburst.  
"We thought you were dead!" said Byron, but that didn't clarify things for Stephen, "How'd you do it?"  
"Wait, what do you mean?"  
"You power, your ability," Byron said, "You survived the attack! I found you, and you were running, but then the soldier appeared, and I thought he had shot you because you disappeared."  
"I have no idea what you mean," Stephen said, "But I want to know the same thing. You were the one in my head, how'd you do it?"  
Byron held out his hand, finally getting ahold of himself. Sometimes a Dive could make him anxious. "Byron Peters," he said, shaking Stephen's hand, a reluctant look in the latter's eye. "What I meant was this: I am a telepath, meaning that I can look into other people's minds and read their memories. There are others like me; except they aren't telepaths; they're a Pyrokinetic and a Ferrokinetic-wait, where are Mark and Phoebe, anyways?"  
"Byron?" he heard the voice of Phoebe. Turning around, Byron saw his two companions turning and walking down the aisle. The wording of that thought brought a mischievous smile to Byron's face.  
"How convenient," Byron said.  
"Who's this?" said Mark.  
"This is-"  
"Stephen Jaxon," the newcomer said.  
"You're alive," said Phoebe, surprised.  
"What's so amazing about my existence?" said Stephen, frustrated that he was getting no answers from the three, but only more questions.  
"I found your thoughts," said Byron, continuing his explanation, "You were running through the halls of the Work Center, and it looked like a soldier shot you. Just before he did, however, your mind disappeared. It was like I was shoved out. So now my question to you is this: How did you do it?"  
Suddenly, Stephen wasn't there. He had disappeared. "Like that," came a reply from behind Mark and Phoebe. They jumped and looked behind them. There, standing behind them as if he had been there since their arrival, was Stephen Jaxon.  
Byron smiled. "Teleportation," he gasped.  
Stephen was, all of a sudden, back in front of Byron.  
"What?" he said.  
"Wow, Mark," Byron said, looking at him, "You seem to have found your match in linguistic singularity." Mark scowled at him, receiving a chuckle from Byron.  
"Teleportation," Byron said more seriously, "The ability to spontaneously appear and disappear at one's wish, sometimes allowing the user to also transport other objects or people along with him."  
Stephen looked at Mark. "Is he always like this?" he said.  
"Worse," mumbled Mark in response. Phoebe punched his shoulder.  
"Stephen Jaxon," said Byron, ignoring Mark's attempts to insult him, "There are others like us. We hope to gather them all and then leave."  
"Leave?"  
"Leave the country. Discover what's out there-"  
"Can I help you?" came a voice from behind them. A worker had come up behind them, a polite smile on her face that quickly reversed when the four looked at her. "I know you," she said.  
"Do you?" said Byron, "No, we're doing just fine, thank you." The woman nodded, backing away nervously. She left the aisle quickly.  
"We need to leave," said Mark, Byron nodding his agreement. The woman would soon alert the police to their presence.  
"Wait," said Stephen as they began to walk off, "You want me to come with you?"  
"It would be a good idea," said Byron, "But the choice is yours."  
Stephen stood, a decision placed before him. "I assume it'll be dangerous," he said, more asking then stating. Byron nodded. "But it'll be just as dangerous here," he said, "If not more so."  
Stephen sighed, seeing no other choice. If he stayed here, in Sector Four, he would have to live every day hiding and savaging, but, if he went with this group, he would be, someday, safe, outside the country. "I'll grab what food I can," he said, "Meet you outside, behind the store."  
Byron began to object, but, suddenly, shouts were heard throughout the shop. Police had arrived and were beginning to search for them. "Go with him, Mark," said Byron, knowing that they'd need some sort of food for their journey to Sector Five. Mark wanted to argue, but Byron's look told him that they didn't have time. Byron and Phoebe walked off, leaving Mark by Stephen's side.


	6. Making an Exit

Byron cursed when he saw the blockade in front of the store. Police cars lined the entrance, the police running in all direction, parties being occasionally sent out to search. "How're we going to get out?" said Phoebe, thinking out loud, "There are other exits, right?"  
"Yes, but it would be better to assume that those are guarded, as well, perhaps with even more force that this."  
"Couldn't we just bust through one of the windows?"  
"We could, but the outburst would be sudden, allowing for them to follow us. We might be able to put up a fight for a while, but we would, eventually, be overpowered."  
"I don't think so. I could make their guns implode."  
"No, your power isn't mature enough yet, and you don't have enough control over it. Besides, they have weapons that aren't metal, as well."  
"Thanks," said Phoebe sarcastically, "So we're boxed in. We'll have to fight our way out."  
"Not necessarily," said Byron, looking up.  
Phoebe tried to follow his gaze, but he was just looking at the ceiling. "What do you mean?"  
"These shelves are made of metal," Byron said, "meaning that you can control them."  
"Yeah, so? What're we going to do, wheel a five-foot-tall shelf into their cars?"  
"The ceiling is supported by metal bars."  
Phoebe was silent for a moment, trying to understand what Byron meant. But then…she got it. And the idea horrified her.  
"No," she said, looking at Byron, "I am not, no matter what, doing that. I'm not going to bring down the entire building while-"  
"You'll be fine," said Byron.  
"No," Phoebe repeated, "I might be able to make a few guns collapse, but I am not going to do that."  
Byron smiled, "Sure you will."

Of course Mark had been sent to get food. He wouldn't be much use to Byron, anyways. Byron seemed to hate Mark. Why? He was always talking about his 'incompetence' or 'grammatical stupidity'. That's almost all he'd done in the twenty-four hours Mark had known him.  
Mark heard shouts near them. "Get down," he said to Stephen, who ducked behind an aisle. Mark stood behind the one next to it, igniting the lighter he had found in Sector Three. This was only the third time he had used his ability, and the second he had used it on purpose. The fire leapt into his palm, traveling up his wrist, yet not consuming his sleeve. He heard soldiers stepping into the aisle, someone giving orders for it to be searched. "Stephen," Mark whispered, getting the guy's attention. "Check what's in the aisle and teleport over here." Stephen nodded. He sneaked a glance around the corner, and, within a half-second of doing so, appeared at Mark's side. "Gas," he said. Mark's eyes widened questioningly. Stephen nodded; he was telling the truth. "Stay behind me," Mark whispered, jumping out from his hiding place. He yelled at the soldiers, who all pointed their weapons in this direction, firing. Before any bullets could reach him, however, Mark threw a fireball into the aisle, not caring where it hit.  
Mark couldn't hear anything for a good five minutes. His vision filled with light. The only thing he could feel was Stephen behind him, screaming for his life as the fire engulfed them, but not consuming them, Mark creating a fireproof shield around their bodies taking up all his concentration, fighting to remain conscious against the strain of the explosion.

Byron and Phoebe had just climbed aboard the shelf that was to be their means of escape when the explosion hit, knocking them off. "Phoebe," Byron cried, half-deaf, "Are you all right?"  
A reply came back to him, quiet but strong, "Yeah," Phoebe said, "I'm fine. What was that?"  
"Mark," Byron said, without having to look into his companion's mind. Byron stood, his legs aching. He looked around the aisle and saw the swarm of police rushing in the direction of the soldiers. "The fire's spreading fast," he said. He walked over to Phoebe, helping her up. She had sprained her ankle in the fall, Byron thought. "Will you still be able to get us up there?" he said.  
"Yeah," Phoebe said, wincing as she put her full weight on her ankle. "Just get me back up there." Byron climbed up first; pulling Phoebe up once he got there.  
"Focus on this shelf," he said slowly, "It's a part of you. Bring it up, farther." They began to ascend.  
"Byron," Phoebe said, eyes closed, focusing, "What happened to Mark?"  
"He survived," Byron said, "Or so I believe. Both he and Stephen are safe, for now."  
"I can't do this," Phoebe said, straining her ability.  
"Yes, you can," Byron said firmly, "Don't worry about Mark, don't worry about Stephen, and don't worry about me. We'll be fine. For now, just focus on getting this thing up as far as you can."  
Byron entered Phoebe's mind. He tried to comfort her from inside, tried to calm her mind. In order to be successful, she had to be calm. She had to be content with her surroundings and circumstances.  
They rose, higher, higher, higher, until they had nearly reached the ceiling. Someone from down below yelled, and bullets fired. Phoebe jumped, making the shelf jolt, knocking Byron off his feet.  
"Don't worry," said Byron, "We're almost there. Now, focus on the metal beams that hold the roof up. Bring them down."

Mark opened his eyes, the lights gone. Stephen was still behind him, clutching Mark's shoulder.  
"Dude," Mark said, "Stop. That's weird."  
Stephen opened his eyes, and, seeing that the explosion was over, released Mark's shoulder.  
"We need to get out of here."  
"But what about the food?" said Stephen.  
"No time," Mark said, pointing at the soldiers who were coming at them cautiously, their weapons aimed at the two. The loud, low groaning of metal jolted Mark and Stephen, as well as the soldiers. They looked up, seeing a shelf in the air, two people standing on top of it. Mark recognized Byron and Phoebe.  
"That's a way to leave, I guess," said Mark, "Do you think you can get us up there?" Stephen looked up, shrugging.  
"I won't be able to get there in one jump, maybe two," he said nervously.  
"It's the best chance we got," Mark said, "You can take other things with you, right?"  
"Yeah," said Stephen, grabbing Mark's shoulder again. "I'll have to teleport a little ways away from the shelf, so we'll come out in mid-air, so don't freak out. As soon as we do, I'll teleport again and get us on the shelf. You ready?" Mark nodded.  
"Alright."  
And then Mark saw darkness. He was conscious; he knew he saw darkness, so he knew he didn't black out. But, before he could think further on this, light rushed back into his eyes. He was suspended in mid-air. His mind began rushing, panicking. But he got control of it. Soon, he entered darkness again, and was out it another second, on top of the shelf.  
"Nice of you to drop in," said Byron.  
And then the roof collapsed.

Explosions littered the ground as pieces of the roof fell, colliding with flammable objects. However, the shelf managed to float out, unharmed, and with plenty of food products for the group to take with them.  
They landed just outside the store. As soon as they landed, Phoebe opened her eyes, gasped, and fell back over. "What wrong with her?" Mark insisted.  
"Calm down," Byron said, "She's fine. She's just used her power to the current greatest possible extent. She's exhausted herself, and she'll need a minute to get back up." Mark nodded, however, from his nervous look; he obviously wasn't fine with this.  
Phoebe soon woke up. The group pocketed as much food as they could hold and started running. However, when Byron looked behind him, making sure they weren't being pursued, he saw a familiar, strange face.  
Looking at them was the man they had encountered earlier, grinning ear to ear, a box of hot chocolate mix in his hand.


	7. Chapter Six: Dive

They soon made it out of Sector Four. They slowed to a walk, allowing Mark, who was curious as to something Byron had said, to catch up with Byron.  
"Back there," he said, "At the Work Center, the guard said that you were a Former Secret Service Agent." The Secret Service was, to some, a fictional group of highly trained individuals who worked in the shadows to maintain order. Many doubted their existence, but some believed the dark whispers that were told about the underground assembly. According to local legend, the Secret Service killed those who defected from their society, making Mark wonder how Byron was still alive.  
"And you're wondering if he was right."  
"Well…yeah."  
"To put it bluntly, yes, he was correct." Mark stood, silent for a moment, before asking, almost in a whisper, "So then it's true? The Secret Service exists?"  
"Yes."  
"He said you were a Former Agent. How'd you get out?"  
"It's a rather personal subject, Mark; I don't like talking about it."  
"Oh…well, I'm sorry, I-"  
"No, it's perfectly fine. I've invaded your privacy; I've read your thoughts. I know everything about you, so you have a right to know.  
"I was recruited at sixteen; the youngest Agent in the history of the society. They chose me because I had accelerated through the levels of the Academy at an unthinkable speed, making me a most logical choice for an Agent. I was only involved in the society for a year before they discovered my ability."  
"How?"  
Byron frowned, wondering if he should tell Mark. If he did, it might be possible that he would go into another Dive.  
"A friend," Byron said, "betrayed me. Although it wasn't really her fault. I was to be promoted to a higher level in the Service, but was denied my advancement. I wondered why, and began searching for answers. I found that there were eight other people like me, all under surveillance. How I wasn't, I had no idea. But I found out something else, also, and the head of the Service took notice of my secret hunt. They wanted to know why, and began searching for the reason. Soon they came across the," Byron's voice cracked, "person I was closest to; Veronica Garrett. They drugged her and interrogated her, the one person I had told of my ability. The Service learned of my mutation, and set out to kill me. I ran to a place we had made, Veronica and me, and found her there. She told me what she had done. I was willing to forgive her, but she wasn't," Byron struggled to maintain a steady breath, "She killed herself. She shot herself in the head, right there, in front of me. And then I ran. I ran from Sector Seven, jumped on a train outside of the Sector, and rode to Sector Three, where I devised a plan. I would not let anybody else be hurt because of their abilities, just because they're different. I knew there were more; I would look for them. And then we'd all leave."  
Byron looked up, realizing that all three of his companions were listening now. He had gone into a Dive, but a different kind, where he narrated his memories instead of just thinking about them. This kind seemed to be more energy draining. The four stood, in the middle of the field, silent.  
"I'm so sorry, Byron," Phoebe said finally.  
"No need," said Byron, wiping the tears out of his eyes, "It's almost dark. Stephen, count out our supplies. Mark, start a fire. We'll need some rest tonight."

Peyton Burton walked the long, dark halls of the President's Mansion. He didn't know why, but President Xandar preferred to keep his Mansion dull, devoid of any unnecessary light.  
He had been called to an emergency meeting with the other Sector Zero officials. Peyton was the head of the Secret Service and, to everyone except for the people he was about to meet with, didn't exist.  
He sat at the short, round table. Only eleven people, occasionally twelve, when the President decided to show up, ever were seated at this table. The eight governors of the Sectors, Timothy Ormiston of Sector One, Harold Adams of Sector Two, Cassandra Moore of Sector Three, Lee Wallace of Sector Four, Genie Scott of Sector Five, Williard Poore of Sector Six, Karla Martin of Sector Seven, and Sarah Spyre of Sector Eight. Charles Hammok was the Council's announcer. Charles kept order and arrangement in the meetings. Other than these were Thomas Garek, the Nation's war coordinator, and Peyton himself.  
Charles began speaking, but Thomas interrupted him. "We all know why we're here," he said, "The Unnatural." 'Unnatural' was the name the populace had given to the people who kept popping up around the Nation with extraordinary powers.  
"Thomas," Genie Scott, the oldest on the Council, besides the President, scolded, "Wait for Charles to finish."  
"He's right, though," said Sarah Spyre, "Something has to be done with them."  
"Yes," Lee Wallace agreed, "They're running unchecked, destroying property, causing thousands of dollars, if not tens of thousands, in damage, not to mention lives."  
"I can send legions in for them," Timothy Ormiston said, "We'll kill them easily."  
"We'll have to move quickly, though," said Thomas, "They seem to be uniting, gathering to each other. We need to strike before they can get together and hit us. They're strong enough on their own."  
"No," interjected Peyton. The Council turned to eye him. He hardly ever made such sudden outbursts. "We can't kill them," he continued, "We need to use them. We don't want another 2047 incident." The Council shivered at the thought of another attack like the one the Nation had experienced almost a hundred years ago. "The Leonics will be back, and probably stronger than before. These Unnatural could help us significantly if that were to happen again."  
"So we capture them," said Williard Poore, "We've already taken one captive."  
"How?" asked Karla Martin.  
"Keep using the means we currently are," said Peyton, "except intensify them. Send in helicopters, tanks, do whatever you can, but make sure that they survive."  
"You realize," said Charles, "that, since you made this suggestion, you should be the one to oversee the Unnatural once they are caught."  
"I accept full responsibility," Peyton said.  
"But what if they manage to get away?" said Thomas, "We need a Plan B."  
"It's easy, Garek," came a high, sing-songy voice from in the corner. The only things visible were a crossed pair of boots and two crossed clawed hands, fingers intertwined. Even with his vague appearance, Peyton knew who it was standing in the corner.  
President Xandar.  
"We make another Sector," he said, yellow eyes glinting in the shadows.

Mark awoke inside a house. Where was he? He was supposed to be outside in the plains, awaiting the morning so that they would go to Sector Five. Had it all been a dream? No; this was not his bed. He wasn't in his home. Shouts from downstairs made him jump. He lept out of the bed and walked downstairs quietly.  
"We can't afford any food!" Mark heard.  
"Don't blame me," came a weak response, "It's not my fault."  
Mark walked into a room with two couches and a chair with a threadbare cushion. The shouts had come from an adjacent room. He crept into a doorway that looked like there had once been a door, but it had been long since ripped off its hinges. He saw two people in the room, which was a kitchen, only one of them familiar. Mark saw Phoebe cowering before a tall woman who stood over her.  
"Yes, it is, you know that!" said the woman.  
"No it's not!" Phoebe rejected.  
"Excuse me?"  
"All you spend our money on i-"  
"Don't use that excuse with me! Maybe if you did something with your miserable self and got a job we'd have more money!" The woman raised her hand up to hit Phoebe, but stopped before her hand made contact. Phoebe stood up straight, looking at a metal bracelet that the woman was wearing. The woman looked confused and frustrated. Her hand flew back, connecting with the wall. The woman groaned in pain. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide. She gasped for breath. Her free hand began clutching at her throat. A necklace tightened around it, keeping her from breathing. She tried to talk, but no air could escape her mouth. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and Mark's eyes opened.

Mark and Phoebe awoke at exactly the same moment. Mark looked at Phoebe, a confused look on his face. Phoebe didn't notice, putting her hand to her forehead. Mark stood and began walking, trying to find Byron. He found him standing, looking off into the distance at Sector Five.  
"That was you, wasn't it?" Mark said accusingly.  
"Yes," he said, not reverting his gaze, "I allowed you to access Phoebe's dream."  
"Why?"  
"Because I wanted you to see Phoebe for who she truly is before you try to make a serious relationship."  
"You wanted me to see that she is willing to defend herself?"  
"To a lethal point, yes."  
"How do I know that you weren't trying to manipulate me?"  
"You'll have to trust me, Mark," said Byron, an agitated tone in his voice, "I told you I didn't want you to be hurt. And I don't. I did this to keep you from future pain."  
"Well, know this: I don't care if Phoebe's willing to kill in self-defense or not."  
"Then you passed the test, if that is true."  
Mark stood next to Byron, silent for a moment.  
"But did she really do that?" he said after a pause.  
"No," Byron replied, "She didn't kill her mother, but she wished to, several times. Her parents abused her, used whatever money came into the house to buy drugs. The scenario was real, the conclusion was not."  
Mark nodded, however, he wondered if Byron was wrong; maybe Phoebe really wouldn't kill, even in self-defense.


	8. Chapter Seven: Absorption

"Sector Five," said Byron as they were walking towards their next destination, "Perhaps the most important Sector in the Nation."  
"Electricity," said Stephen, "How is that more important than food or water?"  
"Sector Five's electricity is what makes everything possible. Without it, we wouldn't be able to clean water or process food. We wouldn't be able to contact each other as easily, either."  
"Oh."  
"Do you know who we're looking for?" Mark asked Byron.  
"I do," Byron said, "His name is Gabriel Ramsey."  
"Byron," Mark said when Phoebe and Stephen had walked ahead of them, "Last night you said you discovered something when you found out about us. What was it?"  
Byron was silent for a moment, thinking of the best way to word his finding, "There's…something out there," he said slowly, "Something outside of the Nation, watching us, waiting for something to happen. It's growing rapidly, and it seems threatening. I don't know if it's a single thing or a whole population, but, whatever it is, I doubt it'll be good." Now Mark was quiet, shocked by this revelation.  
"Then why are we leaving?" he said, "If we leave, whatever it is will attack us, right? Wouldn't we be safer in here?"  
"Not necessarily," Byron said, "I doubt it surrounds us, so we'll be able to head out in one direction away from it. And, no, I don't think we would be better off here. Besides, even if it does attack us, we'll be able to fight back. We could defeat it, and, in doing so, save the entire Nation."  
"If it's strong enough to destroy everything here, how could we fight it?"  
"Do you doubt that we, when all of our powers are combined, would be able to destroy the Nation? We're easily as strong, if not mightier, than whatever is out there."  
Mark was silent, stunned. He had never considered the possibility before. That was probably a good thing, though. He didn't have any desire to destroy the Nation.  
Not yet.

Thomas Garek approached Peyton Burton carefully. Peyton didn't appear to be much, but Thomas knew better. Peyton was not a friend to surprises. One sudden movement and Thomas would be in a coma for the rest of his career. Peyton didn't look like much, but Thomas had seen what the man could do as the Head of the Secret Service. He slowly followed behind Peyton, who planned every movement cautiously, planning it well before acting on it.  
"What do you want, Thomas?" Peyton said, an agitated tone in his voice. Thomas jumped at his voice, surprised by the man's voice. Peyton didn't talk that much, preferring to think instead of speaking. He would sit through whole meetings without his mouth opening, his elbow rested on the arm of a chair, his finger curled around his chin in a thoughtful manner. Even when asked his opinion, Peyton usually only responded with a blunt "Yes" or "No", sometimes not even speaking, but glaring in such a way that his judgment was obvious.  
"If you don't mind, sir," Thomas said, losing the rough manner he had acted during the Council, "I would ask you a question."  
Peyton stopped and turned. "I'm all ears," he said, seemingly becoming friendlier. Thomas kept his distance, anyways.  
"You mentioned today that you didn't want to kill the Unnatural," Thomas said slowly, "But in an earlier meeting you issued an order to kill one that had infiltrated the Secret Service. Why are you pardoning them now?"  
Peyton's face fell. By his expression, Thomas could tell that he had hit upon a personal note. Thomas stood his ground, though, even though he knew that this would end badly for him. Peyton took a breath and looked up, studying Thomas. Thomas still stood, although he felt the urge to shake in fear.  
"You're a bold man for asking such a question," said Peyton, smiling, "Your bravery saves you today, Garek, although, as war coordinator I would have thought that you would've known better than to ask me that. I guess, though, I admire courage more than intelligence, so I'll tell you what you want to know."  
Thomas let out a nervous, quiet breath, but sucked in another when Peyton took a slow step towards him.  
"I'm giving mercy to the Unnatural because," Peyton said, pausing for a moment, "One of them is my daughter."

The Unnatural were, at this moment, about a quarter of a mile away from the Sector Five boundary. They stopped suddenly when Byron held up his hand. "Get down," he said. All four of them immediately hit the ground and crawled behind a rock. "They've got the boundary guarded," Byron said, "Look." Phoebe looked over the rock and instantly looked back down, for, swarming around the boundary marker was about three dozen soldiers, all armed to the teeth. Three tanks wheeled around the site, as well as several vans and cars.  
"Why do I feel like we're connected to this?" she said.  
"Because we are," said Byron.  
"I figured that," Phoebe responded.  
"Then why'd you ask it?"  
"Because…of reasons."  
Byron nodded sarcastically.  
"How're we going to get around them?" Stephen said, "I'm not sure I can teleport that far."  
"I've got this," said Phoebe, jumping up and over the rock. She ran forward, getting the attention of the soldiers. They shouted and opened fire on her. Phoebe didn't stop, she just smiled. This was her chance to prove herself. She could fight, she was capable of doing things just as much as Mark or Stephen or Byron. She could be more useful than to just lift a shelf and bring a roof down.  
The soldier's attempts were futile. Their bullets just fell to the ground around them, as if hitting an impassable wall. Phoebe could feel them all, as if they were her. She drove herself into the ground; let those extensions of her body go as soon as they hit the earth. She extended her willpower to one of the tanks, which, seconds later, blew apart in an inferno. Cars flipped and flew into the air, spiraling and cartwheeling into the atmosphere. Guns were ripped out of the soldiers' hands, orbiting Phoebe body. Phoebe stopped running in the middle of the chaos. Soldiers came at her with knives now. Phoebe almost laughed at their idiocy. They should just retreat. She let one of the guns fire at a soldier, but, instead of a typical explosion that came from the gun's barrel, all Phoebe heard was a snapping sound. The soldier she had aimed at fell over, but not with the gaping wound of a bullet, nor the smoking hole of a laser, rather, a long syringe sticking out of his shoulder. Phoebe looked down at the gun for a moment, confused. She saw why, then. These guns weren't actual guns; they were tranquilizers.  
That moment almost killed her, though, for a soldier noticed her distraction and ran at her, a knife in his hand. Phoebe looked up, but it was too late. However, as she braced herself for the excruciating sting the knife would bring, she saw someone appear in front of her. The soldier brought his knife down, burying it into the person's shoulder while the person delivered a fatal chop to the small exposure the soldier's armor gave in the neck. The two crumpled down next to each other.  
Phoebe knelt down next to her savior, pulling the knife out of his shoulder. She saw the contorted face of Stephen.  
"That hurt," he mumbled before going unconscious.  
Phoebe let the surrounding guns and other assorted weapons that were orbiting her drop and looked up from Stephen's body, hearing a loud crash and explosion. One of the tanks had exploded again, but Phoebe had not done it this time. She couldn't see through the smoke, but she thought she saw a metal arm reach and grabs one of the soldiers, dragging him, screaming. The soldier came back around, flying at one of his own. The metal arm came out again, grabbing another soldier, throwing him, too. The soldiers began circling the thing, their knives poised, ready to fight. The remaining tank fired at the mysterious newcomer and hit dead on. However, after the smoke settled a little, Phoebe saw the outline of a man, standing. He leaped forward, colliding with two soldiers, send them flying. He kicked another who had rushed on him. One soldier jumped, but the man hit the ground and came back up when the soldier was just above him, his fist colliding with the soldier's stomach, sending the soldier up and backwards. The tank managed to fire again, but the man caught the missile this time. The smoke had just settled enough for Phoebe to see who the man was. He was very tall, around six and a half feet, it looked like. His long, disheveled hair covered his shoulders, from which thick, muscular arms sprouted, ending in the monstrously large hands that had grabbed ahold of the tank's projectile. However, the man's skin was what was strange. It seemed to be metal. As soon as he touched the missile, his skin had begun to transform into a similar metal, starting at his hands and working its way up and down his body. Soon that same kind of shiny, hard metal covered his skin, head to toe, as if he were made out of it.  
He lifted the missile and threw it back and the tank with just as much force as the tank had. The tank went up in flames, exploding with a crash that could be heard for miles. Soldiers went flying, screaming for help, yet receiving none. Only now did soldiers try to retreat. Phoebe let them, and so did the new arrival, apparently.  
Suddenly, Mark was at her side, inspecting Stephen. The knife had cut deep, but, hopefully, not fatally. Byron had gone to talk to the man.  
"Byron Peters," he said, "And, yes, I was the one 'in your head'."  
The newcomer stared at him. His skin had returned to normal. "Gabe Ramsey," he said.  
"Yes, I know," said Byron.  
"How?"  
"I'm a telepath. I can read your thoughts and see your memories. And, by your previous acts, I can determine that you are like me."  
"I can read other people's minds?"  
"No. You are like us in that we have a different chemical makeup than other humans, however, that's where the similarities stop. You have the unique ability of Absorption. You are able to, by touching something solid, transform your skin into that material."  
"How do I do that?" Gabe said, obviously perplexed.  
"I believe that the molecules in your skin can rip molecules from a material and duplicate them on top of your skin, making a sort of shell for you to move in. However, this is just my speculation, not necessarily fact."  
"Let me ask you a question, Gabe," Byron continued.  
"What?"  
"What did you get on your Results Test? Where were you supposed to go?"  
"I was supposed to stay in Sector Five."  
Byron nodded, "That's what I thought," he said thoughtfully.  
"What is it?" asked Mark.  
"All of us have received the Sector of our origin on our Results Test. I doubt that it's coincidental."  
"They're trying to keep us in our Sectors."  
"Trying to keep us apart."  
Mark nodded, seeing Byron's point. If they were allowed to come together, there's no telling what they would do. Of course the government was trying to keep them separate. Byron looked back up at Gabe.  
"Well, Gabriel," he said, "welcome to our party,"


	9. Chapter Eight: Project Zero

Stephen awoke, only to nearly pass out again. The pain in his shoulder nearly killed him, literally. He heard Byron's voice saying that it wasn't lethal, but he didn't seem to understand. Stephen could barely sit up, and, when he did, the sight of the giant Gabe nearly threw him back down onto the ground. Gabe hovered six feet above him, his small eyes peering down at Stephen. The sight of the huge man startled Stephen into forgetting his pain. He lept up and was ready to fight a losing battle, but was reassured by Byron that this man was not an enemy.  
"You'll live," Byron said to him regarding his wound, "But I doubt you'll be able to fight at all until later."  
"Wonderful," Stephen said sarcastically, "I might as well stay here. I'll just slow you guys down, and I won't be of any use."  
"No," said Phoebe, "What you did back there was brave. Thank you."  
"That doesn't change the fact that I won't be able to help you guys," Stephen said.  
"We're not leaving you here," said Mark, "You'll come with us. You might have to teleport a few yards ahead and wait for us every once in a while, but you'll come."

"A Ninth Sector?" said Kristine Neff, Thomas Garek's assistant, said, shocked. Thomas was in his office at Sector One, gazing out into the wide streets where soldiers stood at attention for hours on end. He had been tasked with creating Sector Nine, a luring safe haven for the Unnatural. He was had told Kristine, and Thomas planned to work with her to create Nine.  
"Yes," replied Thomas, "That's what the President said. And it must be kept out of the people's knowledge, including the Unnatural's."  
"But who will we populate it with?"  
"Who knows? The President has his ways."  
"What will they do there?"  
"I don't know that, either. At least, I don't know what the President has planned. I know what I'll do, though, once he appoints me governor."  
"And what is that?"  
"I'll capture the Unnatural and hold them there as the President has already instructed. However, I will do something outside of his knowledge. I am going to create an army, Kristine; an unstoppable army," he turned from the window to face her, "I'm going to clone the Unnatural's DNA and give it to the population of Sector Nine."  
Kristine looked worried. "What are you going to do with your army?"  
"I'm going to make sure the Leonic Threat ends. We'll be free; we'll never have to worry about another 2047 Incident again."  
"What about after that?"  
Thomas was silent. "I don't know," he said, honestly enough, "Maybe I'll kill Sector Nine. Or maybe we won't have any need for Sector One anymore; we'll just use the people from Nine as our law enforcement."  
"Or maybe use them to overthrow the government," Kristine said accusingly.  
Thomas looked at her, shocked. "I wouldn't do such a thing," he said defensively, "I would use my creations for the good of the Nation."  
Kristine looked at him as if she didn't believe him before turning around and walking out the door, shutting it behind her.  
Thomas looked back out the window, watching the soldiers march through their school below, wondering about Kristine's statement.  
Was he doing what was best for his Nation?

Meanwhile, Peyton Burton was having similar thoughts, except miles and miles away, underground, outside of the Sectors. He was in his headquarters, the Head of Secret Service Operations, the place he spent most of his life. He was far beneath the upper levels in a laboratory only he and a select few scientists knew of. Here was where he was building a weapon.  
Here was where he would stop the Unnatural.  
He called it Project Zero, an unstoppable force that could counter the Unnatural's abilities and was virtually indestructible. It wasn't finished yet; Peyton had had a difficult time re-earthing the genetic code that made the Unnatural who they were. However, he calculated that the Project would be complete by the time the Unnatural gathered together and escaped their reach.  
Then Peyton had a thought. Thomas Garek was creating a Ninth Sector; maybe Peyton could use that to help with his Project.  
He rushed over to a keyboard that sat on a desk. He pressed a button, and the screen that projected across the entire wall lit up, awaiting his command. Through a series of passcodes and intricate scrolling, Peyton was able to find a biography of Mark Konners, one of the Unnatural. Peyton had a particular interest in Mark, perhaps because of his interest in Peyton's daughter. Maybe it was because of his ability. The thought of Pyrokenisis had always fascinated him, fire being an extremely dangerous, yet incredibly beautiful, entity. As Peyton read, he found two perfect subjects for his tests.  
Caleb Watkins, scheduled to be transferred to Sector One in three days.  
And Nellie Reed, who was supposed to stay in Sector Two for the rest of her life.  
If he and Thomas could use these two…That would make it much easier to capture the Unnatural, or, at least, Mark. That was a problem, though; only Mark would be drawn towards these two, not necessarily the others, especially the two newest of the group; Stephen and Gabe.  
So Peyton dug some more, this time into Gabriel's biography. Like Mark, there was really only one person Gabe trusted; the person's name was Oscar Baker. Perhaps Peyton could use Oscar to draw the Unnatural in, as well.  
Peyton picked up the laboratory's telephone. Normally he wouldn't be able to communicate to people outside of his headquarters, but some scientists from Sectors Five and Eight had willingly given him a hand.  
He dialed the war coordinator. Peyton savored the process. Normal people, if they could afford it, would use a touchscreen, computer, or even a hologram, but not Peyton. He enjoyed the simplicity of the relic. It was one of the only things he could remember about his old home.  
About Earth.  
"Thomas," said Peyton when the war coordinator picked up the phone, "There's been a change of plans. Once you finish excavating Sector Nine, I need you to do something for me."

"I've noticed something," said Byron to Mark that night, after they'd traveled for miles once again.  
"What?" Mark said, not really interested in Byron's observations.  
"All five of us, without fail, have been traveling at an incredible speed," Byron said.  
"You've only just noticed that?"  
"No, but I have, until now, put out the idea that, perhaps, all of us could have other abilities other than that of our main one."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Whatever it is that gives us our abilities, it gives us something else, also. We have more endurance, are faster, our reflexes are quicker."  
"Yeah. I mean, how else would we be able to get as far as we have in just a day?"  
After a while, Mark asked Byron, "Do you know who we're looking for in Sector Six?"  
"You mean who I'm looking for."  
"What?"  
"Stephen won't be able to come with us, and he can't be left alone. There's no telling what could happen to him."  
"So you want me to stay with him?"  
"Yes. Try to go around the Sector, we'll meet you there with the newcomer."  
"Why me?"  
"I have my reasons."  
"Then you should share them."  
"Why would I do that?"  
"Why can't Phoebe stay behind? Or Gabe? Or even you?"  
"Gabe can't stay with Stephen because of his lack of experience. At least, lack of experience with us."  
"Oh, yeah, and taking him with no experience into the middle of the job is a great idea," Mark said sarcastically. He was getting mad.  
"Perhaps it is."  
"Then why not Phoebe?"  
"You wouldn't want that, would you?" Byron gave Mark his sly, mischievous grin again.  
"I don't necessarily like her going in there without me. Why can't you stay with him?"  
"Because you'll need me to find her."  
"Who?"  
"Kaytlen Williams."  
"I doubt we would. We'd just follow the path of destruction that always happens when people show up."  
"Mark, you're staying here with Stephen."  
"Why?"  
"This is going to be a rather circular argument, isn't it?"  
"Stephen's fine! He can go in there with the rest of us!"  
"No," said Byron firmly, "I'm not going to take that risk. None of you will be hurt. You will stay with Stephen, Mark."  
"I know why you're leaving me here," said Mark accusingly, "You want to take Phoebe. You want to make sure she stays away from me, and with you. You're evil, Byron."  
"Do not attempt to lecture me on morals, Mark," Byron says smoothly, almost as frightening as if he had screamed the statement, "Believe me, I have no interest in Phoebe beyond making sure that she makes it out safe, just like the rest of you."  
"I wonder why I doubt you so much, Byron," Mark said sarcastically. Just as the words left his mouth, however, his head exploded into pain. He collapsed, clutching his scalp, trying to claw the pain away.  
"Do not antagonize me, Mark," Byron said angrily "I am much more powerful than you could imagine. I could kill you in an instant; make your death excruciatingly painful, before you could think about incinerating me. I would know your every move before you made it, I would know your weakest points, physically, emotionally, and mentally. There is much at play here you cannot begin to comprehend, both with me and with what we're doing and why. I'm the only reason you're alive and I will be the only reason you survive this ordeal. You will do as I say and you will trust me, or else your life will be not last much longer."  
Mark looked one time into Byron's angered eyes and fell into a deep sleep.


	10. Chapter Nine:

Mark heard sounds of battle all around him. Gunshots went off, fire burned, people screamed for help but receiving no mercy.  
Mark opened his eyes, his head rested against a rock. All around him were people fighting, some people soldiers and other obviously, from their dress, citizens of different Sectors, all rebelling against the military.  
Mark stood. How had all of this happened while he slept? Mark felt fire in his hand. He was ready to fight, even if he didn't know why. He threw the fireball forwards, incinerating a soldier. He felt a hand grab him from behind. Mark elbowed the soldier, turned and connected his fist with the mask the soldier wore. The soldier threw a punch at Mark, who ducked. However, this gave the soldier time to swing his rifle around. Mark came back up, yanking the soldier's pistol from the soldier's holster at the same time. Mark didn't know why he did it; he didn't need a weapon, he had his fire. The soldier fired his rifle, but Mark jumped aside, feeling the heat of the laser as it passed by him. Mark brought the pistol up, leveling it with the soldier's face. Just as he pulled the trigger, though, the soldier ducked, the laser going straight over his head and connecting with another body that was not a soldier. Mark brought the pistol down and shot the soldier on the top of his head, running forward to see who he had accidentally shot, dropping the pistol and extinguishing the flame in his hand at will.  
He turned the body over and stumbled back, feeling sick. The person he had just shot was Phoebe. Mark felt dizzy. He didn't know it was her; how could he? But it was still her. Mark had just killed Phoebe.  
Mark's vision blurred and spun. He could feel the fire coming back to his hand again without him telling it to. He didn't care. All he could focus on was Phoebe's body. But, this time, the fire didn't stay limited to his hand. It traveled up his arm, across his chest, up his neck, until it had consumed his whole body. Mark felt nothing but heat, nothing but pain.  
He was fire.  
Mark screamed in pain as the fire traveled outward, out of his body. And then it was gone. The fire had left him.  
And, now, all around him for miles and miles, was nothing but a charred, ashen wasteland.

Mark opened his eyes again. The sky was dark, dotted with little lights. The moon was full and huge, lighting up the field, making it almost as bright as day. Had what he just experienced been real? Or was it just another dream? Mark had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to sleep again that night. He sat up, looking around and the quiet landscape. His companions were asleep. For the first time, he saw Byron resting. Good. Mark wouldn't have to deal with him.  
Phoebe wasn't asleep, though. She was sitting on a nearby rock, staring off into space. Mark stood silently, approaching her. "Hi," he said quietly, sitting on the rock with her. Phoebe jumped, alert all of a sudden, but settled down a little, when she saw who had addressed her. She still looked nervous, though.  
"What's wrong?" said Mark, noting her anxiety.  
"I feel something," she said, "I've not felt it before. It feels like it's a part of me, though. It's getting bigger, coming closer to me, almost as if I want it to."  
Mark was quiet, trying to understand what Phoebe was saying. Wait…was she saying that-  
Suddenly, Mark heard a loud, chopping sound above them. He saw a large, black shadow cover the bright moon and begin descending. Mark saw Byron sit up as the thing landed on the ground. People began pouring out of it, loading weapons, shouting.  
It was a helicopter. Byron, Stephen, and Gabe stood, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, preparing to fight. Phoebe turned, slid off the rock, and ran towards the helicopter.  
"Phoebe, wait!" shouted Mark, running after her. Phoebe ignored him, going straight for one of the soldiers. She hit him on the back of the head, but another soldier ran up behind her and smacked her head with the butt of his rifle. Phoebe collapsed. Mark shouted, bringing out the lighter he had found in Sector Three. He struck it, calling the flame to his hand. Stephen teleported behind one of the soldiers, kicking his neck in mid-air, then teleporting away. Gabe punched one of the soldiers, cracking his helmet and grabbing his gun. The material of the metal ran up Gabe's arm and had soon consumed his whole body. Gabe turned and sent a soldier that was running at him flying. The soldiers opened fire on him, but the bullets did nothing more than make dents in his skin. Byron ducked under a soldier's punch and came back up, shoving his fingers into the gap in the armor in the soldier's armpit, rendering his arm useless and making the soldier cry out in pain. Byron kicked the man behind his knees, making him collapse, then drove his foot into his neck. Mark threw his fire forwards, consuming several soldiers. But, when Mark saw that two soldiers were dragging Phoebe into the helicopter, which looked as if it were getting ready to take off, Mark stopped and ran for them. Stephen looked up from taking care of a soldier and was hit. The soldiers began dragging him off, also. Mark jumped into the helicopter, looking around for Phoebe. He ducked as a soldier swept his rifle at his head. Mark came back up, grabbing the soldier's mask and yanking it around so that he fell off of the helicopter, which began to rise slowly. Mark ducked around another soldier and heard shouts from outside. He kicked the soldier in the back of the knees, sending him sprawling outside. Mark looked over the edge and saw Byron clinging to the edge of the helicopter. "Help!" he shouted. Mark almost ignored him and went back to fighting. He had no love for Byron. He had just threatened to kill him! But Mark's conscience got the better of him as he reached down and grabbed Byron's elbow, yanking him up and over Mark, colliding with a soldier, who went down. Mark grabbed his ankle and flung him out of the vehicle. Mark stood next to Byron, his back to the exit, facing a squadron of soldiers. "Don't use your fire," Byron said, "we're in too close of a-"  
"I know!" exclaimed Mark as he lept forward. He hit a soldier, who went down. However, the soldier behind him let off a few bullets, forcing Mark to leave his main target alone for now. He ran at the soldier with the gun, yanking the weapon out of his hands and throwing it aside. Mark went to work, punching and smacking at pressure points that he didn't even know had existed before this encounter. A hand grabbed his shoulder. Mark grabbed the wrist and flung it over him, making the soldier that had grabbed him collide with the one he had been fighting. Mark kicked behind him, pushing a soldier out of the helicopter, which was several hundred feet in the air now, screaming.  
Byron wasn't having any difficulty at all with his enemies. He saw their movements before they made them and was able to parry and counterattack more times than he could count. Soon, the helicopter was empty of all but one soldier, who dove aside from Byron's attacks, whipping out his pistol, which he used to shoot in a seemingly random direction towards the front of the ship. Byron kicked the man, sending him flying. Byron stood up straight, heading towards where Phoebe and Stephen were being held up to the wall by metal bars, unconscious. The helicopter rocked, telling Byron what the soldier had been shooting at. He had shot the pilot in the neck so that the copter would crash. "Hurry!" he shouted to Mark, although he knew Mark didn't need any encouragement. Mark ripped the restraints off of Stephen and Phoebe. Byron picked up two backpacks and threw one to Mark. "What's this?" he shouted over the wind.  
"A parachute!" Byron said, "Hurry, put it on and grab Phoebe. I'll get Stephen. We'll have to jump!"  
Mark nodded, gently bringing Phoebe away from the wall. Stephen wasn't lucky enough to experience the same fate; the helicopter rocked and Stephen fell onto the cabin floor face first. Byron ran over as fast as he could and picked him up.  
"Don't open your parachute until about 500 feet!" Byron shouted.  
"Isn't that kind of low?"  
"Do you want to get sucked up into a helicopter blade?!" Mark looked at him, nodding. Byron knew this wouldn't end well, but they had no other choice. "I'll go first!" Byron said. He looked out, at the quickly upcoming ground. He took a deep breath and jumped, suddenly feeling weightless.  
It took Mark a little longer to summon enough courage to leap from the cabin. He looked down at Phoebe's peaceful sleeping face and found motivation to jump. He might survive an explosion, but Phoebe most definitely would not.  
When Mark jumped, he was much too close to the ground to open up his parachute, but he did anyways. Immediately, he felt himself being sucked up. He flew straight past the helicopter, dodging the blades. His parachute did not, however. One of the strings that held it together snapped, and, suddenly, Mark was without a parachute. He hovered just above the copter for just a second, then plummeted. The ground approached him quickly. He cocooned himself around Phoebe's body. Maybe he could save her from the impact. Mark could feel an explosion just below him rock his body, and, somehow, he slowed. He still hit the ground with a crash, but not hard enough to kill them. It was, however, enough to make him go unconscious.

Mark awoke in a grey, dimly lit room. He stood up, wondering where he was. The room he was in was octagonal. Was he just dreaming again? Mark couldn't tell; the room seemed real enough. A door slid open across from him and in walked three familiar figures. Byron, Stephen, and Gabe.  
"Byron," Mark said, "Where am I?"  
"There's been a slight change in plans," Byron said, "I was wrong. We won't be able to flee the country; we'll always be trapped here. So we're going to fight back. We're going to destroy the government and take it over and remake this Nation for good. We want you to join us, but there's something you must do." Stephen stepped forward and handed Mark a pistol. Another panel in the wall opened up behind Mark. Mark didn't have to turn around; he already knew what was there.  
Tied to a chair, her nose bleeding and face bruised, a gag in her mouth, was Phoebe. She looked up at Mark, eyes pleading.  
"She refused to join us," Byron continued, "She believed we could reason with the government. We've already determined that this is impossible. If you want to join us, if you want to live, you will kill this traitor."  
Mark looked into Phoebe's eyes. She was helpless, captive. Mark wouldn't kill someone like that; especially not someone he loved.  
"No," Mark said steadily.  
Byron sighed in disappointment, "I was afraid this was going to happen. Gabriel."  
Gabe stepped forward, grabbing the wall, the material running up his arm. Mark looked back at Byron. Mark brought the pistol up, putting the barrel against his head. Mark felt the cool metal against the skin of his forehead. "What are you doing?" Byron said.  
"Dreaming," Mark said.  
Mark pulled the trigger.


	11. Chapter Ten: Hydrokenesis

Mark awoke, seeing the face of Gabe hovering above him. Mark stood, his head aching. Around him was the wreckage of the helicopter crash, some of it still burning. He had survived. That was amazing. Even without the parachute, and holding Phoebe-  
Where was Phoebe?  
"Where is she?" Mark said, "Where's Phoebe?"  
"She'll be fine," Mark heard Byron say behind him, "Maybe a little shaken up, but she'll be able to perform the tasks ahead of her today."  
This statement brought Mark back to the present. He remembered his frustration from the night before; how he would have to babysit Stephen again.  
However, his frustration of the lack of adventure could not outweigh the puzzlement he felt over the dream he had imagined while he was unconscious. He had had a dream every time he went to sleep, each stranger than the last, ever since he had dreamed of Byron when he was still in Sector Two.  
It wasn't time for thinking, though; the group had begun to move, heading to Sector Six, the smell of salt water in the air.

Williard Poore had never been so nervous. The Unnatural were coming to him, now, trying to rescue Kaytlen Williams, the Unnatural he has captured. Williard was the only governor who had managed to successfully subdue one of the Unnatural. They had moved quickly to imprison her, hacking into the Secret Service's tracking technology to discover which of their citizens was the deformity. Williard smirked at the memory. He would have thought that only a highly experienced scientist from Sector Eight would have been able to accomplish such a feat, but his team had done so flawlessly, going in and out in a matter of minutes, leaving no trace of their having been there. From there Williard had sent a team of soldiers out to arrest Kaytlen before she let her power loose. Now she was in a cell miles underground a command center that had up-to date, triple-layered defense technology from only the finest in the art.  
Even with all of these layers of security, however, Williard still felt nervous.  
There were three ways this could end, he had concluded, and only one of them was good.  
One: The Unnatural would invade his base and level it, killing him, and rescuing Kaytlen.  
Two: The Unnatural would invade, yet spare him, rescuing Kaytlen. This would humiliate Williard, and he would be executed by the other governors for his failure.  
Three: The Unnatural would invade and be caught in the process, making Williard a hero.  
Williard, publicly, expected the third, but, inwardly, wondered, even assured himself, that he would fail. But Williard was no coward. He would face the Unnatural, and, if he had to, die to stop their path of destruction.

"Do you know where she is?" Phoebe asked Byron once they crossed the Sector Six Border. They had left Mark and Stephen behind. Phoebe looked back, watching them walk off, going around the Sector. She wished they didn't have to go.  
If only Mark knew…  
"Yes," said Byron, "And I don't like it." He smiled, though, a wry, mischievous smile that told Phoebe Byron knew something and was holding it back.  
"Where?"  
"Underground," He said, regaining his formerly creased brow, as if he were focusing, or angry, or both, "Under the governor's home. They've captured her."  
"You've known that this whole time?"  
"Yes."  
"Then why'd you leave Mark and Stephen behind? Even with Stephen's injury, he could still help us."  
"Because I can't let them get hurt. Besides, the plan I have in mind is going to require as small an amount of people as possible."  
"Mark wasn't too glad about separating. Why didn't you tell him about this? It might've encouraged him to leave with Stephen."  
"Mark is more thick-skulled than you think, Phoebe. If I had told him, he would have wanted to come even more."  
"Why?"  
"Because he's like me," Byron said, "He doesn't want to see us hurt."

"I'm sorry," Stephen said as they walked, "It's my fault we had to leave them."  
Mark looked over at the small guy. Mark did, secretly, accuse Stephen of his having to leave, but, now, he saw that he was genuinely regretful about the situation.  
"It's fine," Mark said, "You did what was right to get hurt."  
"What?"  
"I'm sorry," Mark said, "I was never good with words. What I meant was that you were willing to sacrifice yourself to make sure that Phoebe was able to be safe. And you shouldn't be sorry about that. In fact, you should be shown appreciation. So, thank you."  
Stephen looked up at Mark.  
"Thanks," he said.  
Mark nodded. "Now," he said, "We need to get around Six before the others. Do you think you could teleport us over there?"  
"A few yards at a time, sure," Stephen said.

"We're going to need two soldier uniforms," Byron said to Gabe and Phoebe as they approached the governor's home.  
"We can sneak around back and get some," Phoebe said.  
"Correct. There will be some security guards there, and it will be hidden enough that we should not have any witnesses. However, there are security cameras, so we'll have to distract them so that they'll go out of sight."  
"But why only two?" said Gabe, "There are three of us."  
"Because, my friend, we will be leading you down into a cell."  
"What?"  
"You will be the one to get us in. We'll pretend that you are our prisoner, and we'll lead you down to where Kaytlen is. We get her out, then we fight our way out ourselves."  
"I think I've seen this movie before," commented Phoebe jokingly.  
"Let's go," said Byron.  
They walked behind a couple of houses that were far enough from the governor's home to not raise much suspicion. Surprisingly, very few people were out. Apparently everyone worked at sea. They soon reached a point where they could see, but not be seen, behind the governor's house.  
"Go, Gabe" said Byron, "Bring two of them over here."  
Gabe nodded and took a cautious step forwards. He wasn't noticed at first, but, as he advanced further, the guards took notice of him. Suddenly, there were more than just two. Gabe ran back to their hiding place, several security guards on his tail. Byron and Phoebe stood, Phoebe lifting all of their weapons out of their holsters and smacking them against their heads. Several crumpled to the ground, and all that didn't were either smacked again or dismantled by Byron.  
"That was easy enough," he said. He quickly worked on taking the outer armor off of a soldier about Phoebe's height. He tossed the armor to her. He looked for a suit of his own. Once he found one, he did his best to assemble the armor in a way that resembled that of a security guard. He slid the helmet on over his head, and the world immediately became several times darker, the tinted mask obscuring his vision until his eyes adjusted. When they did, he looked down at the belt he had put on, taking a pair of handcuffs out. "Don't worry, Gabe," Byron said, putting them on the man's wrists, "Once we get to a fighting point, absorb the handcuffs, break them off, and join us."  
Phoebe stumbled around, not quite used to the heavy feel or the tinted facemask of the armor. She walked over to Byron. "You ready?" she said.  
Byron sighed. "This is going to be fun," he said sarcastically.  
They stepped into the door, Byron sliding a card in a panel, unlocking it. Inside, they were met with a security checkpoint. "We caught this beast outside," Byron said to the soldier standing behind it.  
"We saw," the soldier replied, "Where are the others?"  
"The other guards are combing the area, searching for them."  
"All of them?"  
"Yes, sir. We were instructed to take this one downstairs to where Kaytlen Williams is being held."  
"Alright. Proceed."  
As they walked off, Byron whispered to Phoebe, "That was easier than I thought."  
They walked through two doors that led to stairs that went down. Occasionally, they walked into a long hallway that was lined with security guards standing at attention, ready to leap into action at a moment's notice. The sight worried Byron; they would have to fight their way out. If Kaytlen didn't have a great offensive power, like Byron, and wasn't trained in self-defense techniques, they would have a hard time getting out.  
Maybe he should have brought Mark and Stephen along, after all.  
Byron pushed the thought aside. The fewer the participants in this operation, the better.  
As Byron observed their route from inside his disguise, he noticed several things: security cameras lining the walls, air-locking doors, panels in the ceiling that could slide back, probably holding turrets inside them. They would have a difficult time getting out.  
Soon the air started getting cooler, thinner. Byron couldn't tell how far down they'd gone, but he hoped that they were close. And he was right. Soon they reached the bottom of a flight of stairs and walked into the room. In front of them were five glass cages suspended in the air. In one of them lay a young girl, her body curled up in a corner, her eyes, dark circles surrounding them, glaring out at the metal room. Her skin was dark, her hair short.  
Kaytlen Byron reached out to her.  
The girl looked up, her eyes searching for who had said her name. Byron guessed she hadn't heard any human speech other than her own for the two days she'd been here.  
We're here to get you out he said whatever you see, stay calm.  
Byron walked over to a long, semicircular desk with lights blinking on and off, where three other guards sat talking.  
"Excuse me, gentlemen," Byron said. They all looked up at him. Byron grabbed one's head and slammed it down on the desk. The other two stood up and grabbed their rifles, but they were too slow. Byron kneed one in the stomach and then, when he keeled over, the face, sending him down. The last one had his rifle locked and loaded, ready to blast Byron down, but a large metal hand reached over and grabbed his gun before he could do so, firing it at the ceiling. Gabe punched the guard in the back, there was a crack, and Gabe threw him onto the floor.  
"You didn't have to kill the man," mumbled Byron as he threw his helmet off and hurriedly looked across the desk, looking for something to let Kaytlen out of the glass box.  
"You're welcome," said Gabe  
Byron slid a lever down, which made the box descend. Kaytlen jumped up as the box went down. Sirens began to blare. Gabe kicked one of the guards in the mask as he tried to get up, keeping him down. Phoebe pulled her helmet off and threw it to the ground. She pressed a button that slid a panel in the glass box open. Kaytlen took a cautious step out.  
"Are you-" she began to say.  
"We'll explain later," Byron said, "But we have to leave, now! There'll be guards at the door any second now!"  
Kaytlen nodded and ran towards them. Byron heard a hissing sound and looked behind him. An airlock was closing on the only door that led to the room. He ran for it, but knew he wouldn't be able to make it in time. The airlock closed just before he got there. He heard a shout behind him, and knew what was happening. Byron wisely moved out of the way, allowing Gabe to barrel through, crashing straight into the airlock, bringing it down. However, there were still a few soldiers in the hallway, but Gabe didn't stop. He hit the soldiers like a bowling ball, throwing them aside as they tried in vain to pierce his thick, metal hide with bullets. He barely felt the ammunition hitting his skin. "Come on!" he yelled behind him to Byron, "We have to go!" Just as he said this, a panel slid open in the roof, a turret lowering out of it. It opened fire on Gabe. The rapidity of the blasts hit Gabe with such a force that he fell to the ground, unable to move. Phoebe ran forward, extending her will to the turret. It ripped itself out of it socket and twisted its barrel so that it jammed, exploding. Gabe stood, several dents in his arm that he had used to protect his face. "That hurt," he said. They ran up the long stairway. Along the way they encountered soldiers, but easily threw them over the railing. Whenever turrets slid out of the roof, Phoebe brought them down.  
"Is this all the governor has?" Byron wondered aloud. He thought that a governor, especially with so important a prisoner, would have a far more advanced security system than this.  
They were reaching the top when Byron got his answer. He had noticed the shower heads in the roof on their way in, but had just thought that they were in case of a fire. Instead, once Gabe entered a room, he was showered in acid from the shower heads. He bellowed in pain and backed out, metal skin smoking with burns. "I can help," said Kaytlen quietly. She extended her hands, and, suddenly, the acid started going up instead of down. "Hydrokinesis," Byron said, "Incredible!"  
They entered the hallway. They were safe from the acid. "Kaytlen can control anything that contains dihydrogen monoxide," Byron explained as they walked up, "At least, things that are openly exposed. I doubt you could control human bodies."  
"What?" said Kaytlen.  
"You can control water."  
"Oh. Yeah."  
And so they traveled, up, up, and further up, until they came crashing out of the doors they had entered several hours earlier. The room was empty, several items smoking and burning from the exposure to acid.  
"This way," Byron said, leading them to the back door that they had entered. However, when they turned the corner, they jumped back, hearing a gunshot. Byron peered around the corner, seeing an older man, with touches of grey around his hair, holding a glass pistol. He stood just outside the door, aiming his pistol at them. It was Sector Six's governor, Williard Poore.  
"Come out with your hands up!" Williard said.  
Byron did as he said slowly, motioning for the others to do the same.  
"Do you know what you've done?" the governor said once he could see all of them.  
"You've killed me!" he said, "You've killed my family, my reputation, my career."  
"We didn't have to!" Byron said to him, "You could've let us go freely! But instead you had to try to kill us or to lock us up! This is your doing, Williard. You've done a poor job conserving your life."  
"I could get it back, though. I could shoot all four of you, and I'll be a hero. A god! I would be known as the one to take down the Unnatural," he said the last word with a snarl.  
"We don't want to hurt you, Williard. We don't want to hurt anybody. We just want to leave."  
"Leave?" said Williard, lowering his pistol, just a little, "What do you mean?"  
"We want to leave this country," Byron said, "We want to get together in a group and leave."  
"You…don't want to take over the Nation?"  
"On the contrary. If you would let us, we would be out of your hair in a matter of days. But no. You had to go and hunt us, making us look like the bad guys."  
Williard laughed. "But you don't see why we're keeping you here, do you?" he said, bringing his pistol back up, "There are many more pieces at play here than you could ever imagine. If you really cared, you wouldn't leave."  
"What do you mean?"  
"We have to keep you here. You're integral to our safety. And that's why we're not trying to kill you-"  
"Enough of this," said Phoebe. She ran forward at the governor, who pulled the trigger. "No!" Gabe shouted, running after her. A dart went forth from the barrel and struck Phoebe's shin, bringing her to the ground. Her face contorted in pain, but, after a minute, she lay still. Gabe roared and ran at Williard, who couldn't react fast enough. Gabe seized the old man, lifted him up, and brought him down on his knee. Williard gasped in pain and dropped the gun. Byron and Kaytlen ran to Phoebe's side. "Is she okay?" said Kaytlen. Byron pressed his fingers against her throat. There was a pulse, however faint. "She's fine," Byron said, "For now." He moved down to her shin, pulling the dart from it. "The good news is that it's not a bullet," Byron said, examining the dart, "It's a paralyzing drug of some sort. She'll live, but I doubt she'll be able to move."  
"At all?"  
Byron nodded sadly. "Unless…" he said thoughtfully.  
"What is it?"  
"I may know somebody who can help us," he said. Byron reached down and picked her up. "Mark's not going to be happy about this," he mumbled as they walked out of the house.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Xandar

Mark and Stephen had made it around the Sector by the time the others exited the Sector. It was nearing dark. Mark stood when he saw them coming. However, his spirits fell as they approached. He ran at them, leaving Stephen behind. "Put her down!" he yelled at Gabe, who was carrying the unmoving body of Phoebe.  
"Mark-" Byron started to say.  
"Put her down!" Mark repeated, louder. Gabe did so, and Mark kneeled by her body. He could see that she was breathing, but just barely. Her face contorted, seemingly in pain."  
"What did you do?" Mark shouted at Byron, looking up.  
"I did nothing," Byron said, "It was-"  
"Stop!" Mark stood, "You're killing her!"  
"No, I'm not, Mark."  
"What did you do?!"  
"I swear, I did nothing, Mark. I tried to-"  
"You're lying!" Mark's lighter was in his hand in an instant, a spark struck, the flame dancing angrily across his palm.  
"Kaytlen," said Byron calmly. A girl stepped forward. Mark let the fire race towards Byron. However, before it could reach him, a stream of water hit it, allowing it to go no further. Mark looked over and saw the new girl, Kaytlen, shooting a river from her hands.  
"I did nothing, Mark," Byron repeated, "She was shot. Sector Zero has come up with some sort of technology that is able to overpower our abilities and paralyze us."  
"I don't believe you," Mark said, keeping the fire blasting towards him.  
"Why not? I don't have any reason to hurt her."  
"You want to hurt me."  
"No, Mark, I don't. Believe me, I don't."  
Mark brought the flames back, but still kept a blaze in his hand. "How do we wake her up?"  
"Under normal circumstances, I'm not sure it would be possible," Byron said. "But I think I know a person who can help. Thankfully, they're rather close."  
"Who?"  
"My mother."

Phoebe couldn't move. That was all she knew. She could barely process what was happening. She saw light and faces around her. She saw fire, heard yelling. She couldn't interpret what was going on.  
Then she saw darkness. But only for an instant, for she regained consciousness in what seemed like a microsecond. She saw a face hovering over hers. It was Mark.  
The thought would have brought tears to Phoebe's eyes, had she been able to produce any. If only Mark knew that she loved him.  
But would that be good, though? Would it be good for him to know?  
That was why Phoebe hadn't told him. But, now, as she watched Mark watch over her, she wished that she had. She probably wouldn't wake up, wouldn't ever be able to move again. Soon she would die of starvation, and leave Mark in the dark.

Mark couldn't sleep that night; he knew he wouldn't. He had been sitting over Phoebe all night. Byron had walked off somewhere, Mark didn't care where. Mark wondered how the others could sleep, when something like this had happened.  
Maybe he was being too judgmental. He wasn't able to sleep because he was worried about Phoebe. The others didn't care for her as much as he did, and their day had been physically tasking.  
But he hadn't been able to tell her that he loved her. Did he intend to ever do so? Or was he just too cowardly to?  
Byron had said that his mother might be able to help Phoebe.  
For Byron's sake, Mark hoped he was right.

President Xandar looked over the long table of squabbling governors, silent. They had been shocked by the death of Williard Poore, and were now split on whether or not to kill the Unnatural. Xandar smiled from the corner, as he usually did. He enjoyed watching the Council fight. They were so insignificant, it made Xandar want to laugh. They thought they were in control, but they were no more than puppets. Xandar's plan could not, would not, be manipulated. And now, with the construction of Sector Nine underway, he had never been closer to achieving his goals.  
Soon he would be back where he belonged, and, soon, he would have his revenge.  
He turned, slipping out of the room unnoticed by the Council and the guards standing by the door. He stalked down the halls, silent as the darkness itself. He walked the halls of his mansion, quiet, alone.  
Alone, as always. But not for long. Once Stage One was complete, Xandar would be well on his way back to the one he loved.  
Xandar opened a door. He stepped through it and into a small, kitchen-like area. He reached up and opened a cabinet, pulling out a cup. He gently laid it down on a counter, sliding open a drawer at the same time, pulling out a spoon. He set that down next to the cup and walked over to a doorway, this one opening into a pantry. He examined the contents for a moment. He found what he was seeking. He reached down, grabbing the round, cylindrical container.  
Xandar did so love hot chocolate.

"We must be careful," Byron said the next day as they reached Sector Seven. It was around one or two in the afternoon, "There are more of us now; we'll attract attention."  
"Can't you just do that mind-concealment thing?" Mark asked.  
"With us carrying a body? No, we'll need to find some sort of vehicle to take."  
Suddenly, something exploded ahead of them. Smoke billowed into the air.  
"What was that?" said Kaytlen.  
"I don't know," said Byron, who burst forth, running. The others took off after him. Soon they were in the middle of a suburban area, but the place was barren. Nobody was out, and the homes looked desolate and unkept, like nobody had lived there for a while. Byron ignored this, though, and kept running forward. He had a bad feeling of what had happened. He ran and ran, the others following behind him, until he suddenly stopped before turning around a corner.  
"Go up," he whispered. Mark looked at him, puzzled. Byron ran back and started climbing stairs that led to the roof of a nearby apartment. The others understood and started following him. When they had reached the top, Byron cautiously looked over the edge. What he saw horrified him. Below were hundreds of soldiers surrounding a crowd of people who stood in straight lines, as if organized in such a fashion.  
"They've taken control of the Sector," Byron gasped, "But why? Who ordered this?"  
"I did!" came a high voice from behind them. Byron jumped and looked behind him. There, in a long, black trench coat stood the strange man that they had encountered in Sector Four. Byron stood, ready to fight. This man had unnerved him heavily the last time they had met, and Byron knew there was a reason. Again, when Byron tried to look into the man's head, he found nothing. It was as if this man didn't have a memory at all, no identity to speak, or even think, of.  
"What are you doing here?" said Byron.  
"Watching my plan unfold," he said, "Which it is doing gloriously."  
"You caused this?"  
"Absolutely."  
"You ordered soldiers to take over my home?"  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
"Let's just say," the man said, smirking, "I have my reasons."  
Byron screamed and leaped for the man, but he suddenly wasn't there. When Byron stood, he saw the man kneeling over Phoebe's body.  
"My, my," he said, "You're in quite a predicament, aren't you?"  
"What makes you say that?" said Byron. Mark leapt at the man, but in vain, for he wasn't there. He was standing behind Byron now.  
"I could help you, you know," the man said.  
"This is helping us?" said Byron, turning to face the man, "making the military take control of us? Who are you?"  
"I've been called by many names in the past," the man said, beginning to pace across the roof. By now the Unnatural were as tense as possible, ready to leap into action against this man.  
"Evan was my birth name," he continued, "But after that I became several people. I've been called a monster, unnatural, mutant. But your people know me by a different name. You all know who I am, but you've never seen me. I work in the dark, pulling the strings you puppets lean on for support."  
"Who?"  
"In this Nation, in this world," the man continued, "I prefer to keep my identity a secret."  
"However," he said, bowing, "it is a pleasure to meet you, Former Secret Service Agent Byron Peters," he looked up, smirking, "Level Three."  
Byron pushed that statement aside.  
"You said you could help us," Byron said, "You must know where my mother is."  
"Absolutely," the man said, standing back to full height, "And, yes, your mother is safe, for now. She will be willing to help you when you find her."  
"I assume she's at our home?"  
"Yes, she is."  
"Then we'll head there now."  
"But, my friend, you're already there!" the man said, laughing.  
Byron looked over the roof again, seeing that there was no army, no captives, beneath them, but, instead, a familiar street. The street that led to his house.  
"How did you-"  
"No time for explaining, Byron, the army will make their way here soon enough."  
Byron looked at the man, a questioning look in his eye.  
"You'll know all soon enough, Byron. But, for now, know that I want you to win. I want you to leave, and I want you to survive."  
Byron nodded and began heading for the stairs that led down the roof.  
"One last thing, Byron," the man shouted at him, "You will not succeed in your current quest. Your mother will not be able to resurrect your friend. However, you will succeed eventually. And, in the process, you will find and loose the one you once loved again."  
Byron looked back at the man. He looked into his eyes for the first time, those yellow, sickly, bloodshot eyes, and said one sentence.  
"I've never loved anybody."  
The man laughed his giddy laugh, walking backwards towards the edge of the roof.  
"I doubt that," he said before stepping backwards off the building.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Safehouse

"What was that?" asked Kaytlen as they walked inside the mansion the Peters lived in. They had decided to split up and search the huge house in teams of two, Gabe staying behind with Phoebe in a safe place near the front of the house.  
"That was an…acquaintance of ours," Byron said.  
"This place seems empty," she said, "How big was your family?"  
"It wasn't just my family that lived here," Byron said as they walked up a flight of stairs, "This place was also used as a private school, mainly overseen my parents and siblings, of which I had five."  
"Five brothers and sisters?" Kaytlen said, "I don't think I could live with that."  
"I wasn't here very often," Byron said.  
"You weren't at home? Then where were you?"  
Byron stopped, wondering if he should tell Kaytlen this. He could go into another Dive. "I was…researching," he said, honestly enough, without having to go into any details, "That's strange," he said, "My mother would have come out by now and greeted me, I would have thought."  
"Are you sure she's not afraid of you? She might be hiding."  
"Yes, I'm sure," Byron said, "Out of anybody in the world, she wouldn't hide from me."  
Byron opened a door, but jumped back when he saw what was inside. Kaytlen screamed. Stephen and Mark were there in an instant.  
In the room, which had been Byron's parent's bedroom, was a squadron of soldiers, one with his gun to Byron's mother's head.  
"What's going on?" said Byron, looking into his mother's eyes. She wasn't scared, she never was. She was always calm, always taking in her circumstances with peace and patience. Even now, her eyes were filled with tranquility instead of fear.  
"Surrender, Unnatural," the soldier said, "We have been sent with orders to arrest you on the basis of terrorism and the murder of Governor Williard Poore."  
"Wait," said Byron, "We don't want to hurt-"  
"Surrender," the soldier said, tightening his grip on the trigger.  
"Let me-"  
"You're under arrest!"  
Byron reached into the man's mind, twisting it and ripping it. He began destroying the soldier's consciousness, and did so quickly.  
But not before he pulled the trigger.  
Both the soldier and Byron's mother fell to the ground. Byron screamed and all of the soldiers in the room fell down, dead. Byron rushed to his mother's side.

All Mark could do was watch. He watched as Byron whispered something and watched as he cried on his mother's shoulder.  
Mark wished he didn't know what Byron was feeling. He wished he hadn't lost someone that important to him. But Mark had, now probably forever, since Byron's mother was dead. She was the only one who could have been able to help Phoebe wake up.  
Now Phoebe would probably die. She'd be stuck, paralyzed until her body broke down.  
Not that it mattered; Mark would probably be dead himself soon. They were stuck in the middle of a Sector where the military had seized control. Or, at least, the government. They wouldn't get out easily; they'd have to fight.  
Suddenly, Byron looked up. "No," he said, looking at Mark, "There is another option," he said, standing, "I told myself I'd never go there again, but I don't see a choice." He stepped towards Mark, an intense look in his eye, as if he were setting foot into a quest that would be completed no matter what. "I will not let Phoebe die," he said.  
"Guys!" came Gabe's voice from downstairs, "We got trouble down here!" he yelled at them.  
The Unnatural ran downstairs. Byron looked out of one of the large windows and saw lines of soldiers, all marching towards the mansion.  
"You're right," Byron said to Mark, "We'll have to fight."

Byron shoved a rifle he had pillaged from one of the dead soldiers into Stephen's hands, saying, "Teleport with this. Don't let it go until you're out."  
"A-a gun?" said Stephen incredulously.  
"Yes, it's a gun," Byron said, "Mark, take Phoebe and follow me. You three cover us as we run. We won't have much time to fight. The lab is close by, so you won't have to fight for too long."  
Byron ran out the back door, Mark following him, carrying Phoebe's body. When they went few yards from the back yard, a crash came from the house, the door being kicked in. Someone shouted, and, soon, soldiers poured out the back door. Kaytlen turned around and a wall of ice that reached from where she was for several yards in either direction formed around her palms. She brought them out, turning and running to catch up with the others. This kept the soldiers busy for a little while, trying to shoot through the wall, some running around it. Eventually they broke through, but the Unnatural were well out of the way by then. Byron turned into an alley, the others following him. He turned into a door that seems like it's halfway decayed, beckoning for the others to follow him. They entered and found themselves in a small, square room that they could barely all fit into. Byron punched a code into the wall and, suddenly, the group was falling. The fell for a few seconds, wondering what Byron had gotten them into, but stopped. They stepped out into darkness. "Where are we?" said Mark, trying to adjust his eyes to the blackness that enveloped them. "A safe house," said Byron, "A laboratory."  
Suddenly, there was a loud click that echoed through the room. Kaytlen felt something cold and metal press against her head. It was a gun, the barrel round.  
"Who are you and how did you get here?" came a female voice from the dark.  
Lights suddenly flickered on, revealing the form of a woman holding a gun pressed against Kaytlen's forehead.  
"Byron?" she gasped, lowering the gun.  
"Veronica?" said Byron at the same time.  
"I thought you ran away!" said the girl.  
"How-how are you alive?" Byron said, "I saw you! You shot yourself!"


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Reminiscence

Veronica rushed towards Byron, wrapping her hands around him. Byron was too shocked to respond. He remembered all too clearly that night, almost a week ago, when he had watched Veronica die.

Byron had run into the lab, pursued by Agents of the Secret Service that he had once known and called friends. He had found Veronica there, on the ground, weeping.  
"Veronica," Byron had said, rushing to her side, "What's happened?"  
"I didn't mean to do it, Byron," she had said in tears, "But they came so fast, they dragged me somewhere, who knows where."  
"What?"  
"I was at home," she said, "They rushed in and grabbed me and took me away. They drugged me, and I told them Byron, I told them!"  
"You told them what Veronica?"  
"I told them about you! What you can do! And now they'll find you and hurt you."  
Byron had been silent for a second. He had kneeled down beside Veronica, embracing her.  
"It's all right," he said, "It's not your fault. There's nothing you could have done."  
"It is my fault Byron," she said, leaning on him, "It's all my fault."  
"No, it's not," Byron tried to assure her, "I'll be fine. I'll stay down here, now, they'll never be able to find me."  
"Yes they will, Byron. They won't stop. I don't know what they want with you, but they won't stop until they have it," Veronica said, her voice calming. She began to stand, and Byron stood with her, "And that's my fault."  
"Veronica, no, I-" Byron began to say. However, Veronica did something so surprising that he stopped. She reached into his jacket, next to his waist, and pulled the pistol he always carried out of its holster. She stepped back and pointed it at herself.  
"Veronica," Byron said, slowly, "What are you doing?"  
"Byron, you need to run. Leave the country and stay out. You have to go."  
"Veronica, don't-"  
"Byron, I have to. You have to run, and it's my fault. I can't live with that guilt. I won't be able to live with myself knowing that you're out there, struggling to survive, because I did something stupid."  
"Veronica, wait, you can come-"  
"No, Byron. I can't."  
"But w-"  
Veronica had pulled the trigger.

Byron didn't remember much after that, he just remembered screaming and crying over Veronica's dead body. He had touched her blood, covered the hole the bullet had made in her head. He had heard her last breath, felt her last heartbeat.  
"How?" he said, now, "How did you survive?"  
"Your mother," Veronica said, "She found me and healed me."  
"No, Veronica," Byron said, stepping away from her, "You died. I remember that more vividly than anything else. The one memory that has plagued my mind for the past week. I've been able to push everything, every horrible reminiscence, away except for that. You should be dead."  
"But I'm not. I don't know how it happened, Byron, but it did; I thought I was dead, but I wasn't. I woke up just fine, and your mom was here with me."  
Byron didn't believe her, but chose to act like he did.  
"I've seen stranger things," he said, "Anyways; it's good to have you back, Veronica. I could use some help, especially now."  
"What do you need?"  
"We're going to do something we've never done before," Byron said, "It may backfire heavily on us."  
"Alright. What are we doing?"  
"This is Phoebe Burton," Byron said, motioning for Mark to bring Phoebe's body forward, "She was hit by some sort of tranquilizing material in Sector Six. We need to wake her up somehow."  
"We need to cure paralysis."  
"It's not just paralysis; I believe that the tranquilizer was also able to overcome her ability as well, so we'll need to come up with something to restore those, too."  
"Should be easy enough. I'll need a few hours to study how her body is able to enable itself Ferrokinesis-"  
"Wait," said Mark, "You know what her ability is?"  
"Yes," said Veronica, "Of course I do. You Unnatural are everywhere in the news."  
"What'd you call us?"  
"Unnatural," Veronica said as if it were obvious, "That's what the people have been calling you. Haven't noticed that?"  
"Haven't had much time to look at a television," Mark said, "Been a little busy."  
"Maybe you should go into a store and look at one; they usually have news on those twenty-four seven," Veronica said, instructing Gabe to lift Phoebe up onto a huge, metal chair, "That is, if you can manage to not blow it up."  
"At least I don't stay holed up inside a nerd's dreamscape all day." Mark was finding it hard to get along with this new woman. How had Byron managed even being a lab partner with her?  
"Come on, people," Byron interjected before Veronica could retort, "We've already made enough enemies. Don't need to make any with ourselves."  
Mark looked over at Byron, who was sitting it a chair nearby, a hand on his forehead, the arm of which was resting on his knee. Mark wondered what he felt. It had been a rather hard day for Byron. He had come from Sector Six being blamed for hurting someone, to the point of Mark almost killing him, and then he had come to Sector Seven trying to help that person to find that his old home had been ransacked and overrun by the military. After that, he had had an intense discussion with a strange man who had somehow teleported them to Byron's mother, who was killed the moment Byron found her. After that, Byron had ran to his last safe house to find that one of the only people he trusted, and thought was dead, was somehow miraculously alive. Now he would have to help that person in a scientific experiment that he had never performed in order to bring his friend back.  
His friend. Was that what Byron considered Phoebe? Or Mark? Or any of them? Or did he just want to get them out because he felt the need to?  
No, Byron did care about them. That Mark knew for sure. He'd risked his life so many times to save theirs, there was no way he could have done it just for himself. He had risked his life by coming to them, by testing Phoebe's limits in Sector Four, by jumping out of the helicopter with Stephen, by going into Sector Six's home base and rescuing Kaytlen.  
But Byron had paid the price. Because of his actions, neither he nor any of the other Unnatural was hurt, but Byron's family had. Byron's mother had been killed because he had refused to surrender. Byron didn't know where the rest of his family was; they were probably dead too. Byron didn't say it, but Mark knew that he thought it.  
Byron wasn't an evil monster like Mark had been led to believe during previous events.  
Byron was just like Mark; he was Unnatural.

Hours passed in the laboratory; it must have been well into the night when Veronica came into the room the Unnatural were in, all sitting around a television, and said, "I think I've figured it out."  
Mark jumped up and looked at her. "What?"  
"You're a little slow, aren't you?" Veronica said. She sounded just as Byron had when they had met. "I'll explain, though," she said, leading them to beside where Phoebe was seated, "First I had to study Phoebe and figure out how she was able to control metal, which took up the bulk of my research. After I did that, I found the sedative and was able to replicate it while Byron did his best to procure an antidote. I did have to assist him a little, but we believe we were able to create one."  
"Then what are you waiting for? Put it in!"  
"It's not that simple," Veronica said, "The serum is untested, so we're not sure if it will work. Since I was able to replicate the sedative, it will be possible to inject another living subject with it in order to test the serum. However, this could be very deadly if we made the serum incorrectly."  
Mark was ready to volunteer. He had no second thoughts about it; he would, if necessary, die in order for Phoebe to live.  
Mark was just about to tell Veronica to give him the sedative when he was interrupted.  
"I'll do it," Stephen said from behind Mark. Mark looked back, "No, Stephen, I'm going to-" he began to say, but Stephen interjected, saying, "I've got nothing to lose. Besides, I'll only slow you guys down with my knife wound, so it'll be better if I die."  
"You think I have something to lose?" Mark said.  
"Yes," Stephen said, "Phoebe."  
"What?"  
"You're not very subtle, Mark," he turned to Veronica. "Give me it."  
"Are you sure?" Veronica said, "The serum could kill you if I made it wrong."  
"That's fine," Stephen said.  
"Stephen, no, I've g-"  
"No, Mark, you don't," Stephen said, lying down on a table. "I'm just being brave," he said, referencing their conversation outside of Sector Six. Veronica slid the syringe into his arm, pushing it down. Stephen's face contorted with pain. He looked like he wanted to lash out in pain, but he controlled himself. Soon he was lying still on the table, skin cold and eyes glassy.  
Veronica waited a few minutes before slipping the serum into his arm. She pulled it out and waited a few moments. "Stephen?" she said. Stephen blinked, sitting up. He looked confused.  
"Where am I?" he whispered, "Who are you?" he said, a little louder. He looked at Veronica's hands and saw the syringe. "What are you doing to me?" He shouted, looking around the room. He jumped up and ran for the exit.  
"Stephen!" Mark shouted, running for him. Mark tackled Stephen, bring him to the ground. "Don't you remember?" Mark said. Stephen threw Mark off of him and stood back up. Mark stood, almost falling again. He didn't know Stephen was that strong.  
"Byron!" Mark heard Veronica shout, "Get me the sleeping serum!"  
Mark ran again at Stephen, but Stephen saw him coming and sidestepped out of the way, continuing his mad dash for the exit. Byron looked around his table, looking for the sleeping serum. "Hurry!" he heard Veronica say.  
Kaytlen issued a stream of water forth in front of Stephen, who looked at her, a confused and terrified look in his eye, but he just ducked under the water, not stopping. "Don't hurt him!" Mark shouted. Byron found the sleeping serum. Veronica wasn't close enough, though; she, too, was running at Stephen, and was closer than any of the others. "Veronica!" Byron shouted. She looked back. Byron threw the vial to her. It flew through the air for a few seconds, landing in Veronica's palm. She, with immense speed and accuracy, slipped the syringe from her pocket, ejected the previous vial, which crashed onto the floor, and attached the sleeping serum to it. She still wasn't close enough to Stephen, though. He would make it to the exit before she caught up with him. Suddenly, out of nowhere, it seemed, came a hulking mass of a man. Gabe stepped in front of Stephen, grabbing his arms. Stephen attempted to struggle, but it was no use. Gabe wouldn't let go. Soon Veronica was behind him, injecting the serum into his blood. Stephen was soon asleep.  
"That was fun," Veronica said, gasping for air.  
"Yeah, let's do it again," Mark said sarcastically.  
"We'll have to," Byron said, "If we want Phoebe back."  
"What do you mean? Didn't Stephen lose his memory?"  
"Perhaps at first. However, once he wakes up, I believe he will regain it."  
"Are you sure it'll work on Phoebe?"  
"Well," said Veronica, "it worked with Stephen."  
"You don't say."  
"It worked too well," said Byron.  
Stephen's eyes shot open. Gabe was still standing next to him. "It worked," Stephen said, groaning as he sat up.  
"You remember who you are?" said Veronica.  
"Yeah," Stephen said, "But why am I all the way over here?"

Veronica held the needle as close as she dared to Phoebe's skin. She knew if she did this wrong, it could mean disaster for them all. She carefully slipped it into Phoebe's neck, pushed the plunger, and brought it out. She waited a few moments, the sleeping serum in her hand. Suddenly, the chair creaked. One of the instruments flew away and into the wall. "Now!" said Byron.  
Veronica put the needle of the sleeping serum into Phoebe's neck and began to push down. However, one of the lights above the chair swung down, snapping from its position. It hit Veronica in the stomach and pushed her back, pinning her against the wall. The syringe fell from Phoebe's neck. "Get it, Byron!" she yelled. Byron rushed forward, but was hit in the head by a flying faucet head. He went down, unconscious.  
"Mark!" Veronica cried, the pain of the light disallowing her to say much more. Mark ran behind Phoebe, dodging random lab equipment and instruments. He ducked under the chair and picked up the syringe from the ground. However, the syringe, it's exterior made of metal, flew back, away from Phoebe. Mark yelled, fighting against the syringe's pull. He stepped closer to the chair. He fought as hard as he could, bringing the syringe closer and closer, centimeter by centimeter, to Phoebe's neck. He finally made it, injecting the serum into Phoebe's blood with a shout.  
Everything fell down. The light fell from Veronica's stomach, allowing her to breath.  
Mark gasped and fell down, taking the syringe out of Phoebe's neck. He had barely been able to fight against it; the willpower of Phoebe's Ferrokinesis being nearly too strong for him. He stood, leaning on the chair for support, coughing as he rose. However, as soon as he made it to full height, he nearly fell down again, for he was almost tackled.  
"I love you," said Phoebe, wrapping her arms around Mark.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: The Queen

Kristine Neff hated it here. She hated Sector One. Not that she was fond of any of the other Sectors, though. She much preferred her real home.  
She had infiltrated Sector One's ranks and had become the assistant of the war coordinator Thomas Garek. Nobody here knew who she really was, and she knew that they never would. That knowledge would paralyze them, it would shatter their reality. No, Kristine would leave them in ignorance. If they knew what was out there, there was no telling what they would do.  
However, there were a few individuals she could tell. She could reveal the truth to some here, if they would only come to her. If the Unnatural found out, they could help her. They were already heading out of the country as quickly as possible; why shouldn't she help them? That was why she had reverted Sector One's attention away from Ashley Moore, Sector One's resident Unnatural. She would be the last one, Kristine knew, that the group would pick up. They would be coming right to her, and she could captivate their attention then. And, then, when she saved their lives, they would have to join her monarchy.  
Kristine walked down to the airway that was near the building Thomas Garek used as his headquarters, carrying a suitcase that held one of her most prized possessions inside. "I need a jet," she said.  
"For what purposes?" asked the guard there.  
"Mine."  
"For what purposes?" repeated the guard.  
"Would you like me to tell you?" said Kristine, impatient, "I'd be glad to do so, but only after I've knocked you unconscious, blown your brains out with your own rifle, and stuffed you into a closet in the plane of my choosing."  
"You may enter," said the guard, knowing that he wasn't going to get answers out of her.  
"Thank you," said Kristine politely.  
"We will send a pilot team to Jet 434 immediately."  
"That's very courteous of you; however, I can take care of myself."  
"Understood."  
Kristine walked through the gate and walked up the first airplane she came to. She started it, setting her suitcase on the ground next to her seat. The airplane's engines roared to life, lifting her up into the sky. She guided the plane forward, staying at the controls for only a few miles before setting the plane to auto pilot, grabbing the suitcase, and walking back into the rear of the plane. When she returned to her spot, Kristine was no longer dressed in the stiff uniform she had worn in Sector One. She was now dressed in the long skin of a large cat, the claws at her feet, and the head on her back, fangs drooping over her shoulders. But, most importantly, was what adorned her head. Sitting on top of her was a crown, not made of gold or jewels, but composed of a large assortment of bones and teeth, two of the teeth stuck up in the air until they reached about six inches in height, the bottom two fangs running down her face and jaw. Small bones dangled from the crown like jewels hanging from the crowns of past royalty.  
Kristine sat back down in the plane's pilot seat and began guiding the aircraft herself, heading towards her home.  
Nearly two hours past before she made it. She spotted the twin hills that marked her descent. She lowered the craft onto what seemed, at first, a pare patch of land. However, as she approached it, the patch opened into a deep, dark pit. The plane lowered down for what seemed like miles. When it finally settled down, the patch overhead closed, bathing Kristine in a darkness that would have made the fiercest of warriors quiver in fear. However, darkness was where Kristine lived. She relished in the blackness of the deep for the few seconds she had with it, for almost as soon as she had landed the craft, lights flickered on, an escort of guards coming to meet her.  
Kristine walked down the ramp, walking down the aisle of soldiers that had come to meet her. The soldiers wore armor made of the bones of the dracnae, a mysterious race of creatures that had long since been extinct. However, their remains had endured the years of harsh weather and exposure, making them excellent choices for the armor of her soldiers.  
Kristine's second in command, Matthew Scott, walked up to her.  
"You're back sooner than expected, Your Highness," he said.  
"Is that a twinge of disappointment in your voice, Scott?" Kristine said, keeping her eyes forward, "Did you enjoy your period of superiority so much?"  
"No, Your Majesty," Matthew said, "I am merely surprised. We were expecting you to be back in several weeks."  
"There's been a change of plans," Kristine said, leaving the airlock, "I want that ship destroyed." Matthew nodded to a nearby soldier, who marched off to the airlock.  
"We're…not going to try to overtake the Sectors?" Matthew said.  
"We still are," Kristine answered, "However, we're going to take a different approach."  
"That is?"  
"The Unnatural."  
"Excuse me…what?"  
"The Unnatural," Kristine repeated, "Do you remember when the Sectors undertook in Project Leon?"  
"Yes, Your Majesty."  
"Apparently they succeeded when they thought they had failed. The result was the Unnatural, a group of super-human beings who would easily give us the power to destroy the Sectors, let alone just taking them over."  
Matthew was silent, shocked by this revelation.  
"But Xandar will try to get them before us, will he not?" Matthew said.  
"That is what I fear," Kristine answered, then chuckled at herself, "An interesting choice of words."  
They walked through a huge set of doors and into an even larger, domed room. At the back wall were positioned seven large thrones, the biggest in the center, three on each side of it. This is where seven ancient lords had sat, back in the grand days of the nation that Kristine's people had inhabited when it was abandoned. There were always seven; they changed from time to time, but there were always seven, never more, never less.  
At least, not until now.  
Now only one person sat on the thrones; the queen of these people, the New Subterainians.  
Kristine Neff walked up the stairs that led to her throne. In the Sectors she was seen as a mere servant of the Nation's war coordinator, someone who would manage his time, his money, and his other servants. However, here, in New Subterainia, she was seen as so much more. Here, Kristine was a ruler, a monarch, a queen.  
Kristine sat down in her throne. "It's good to be home," she said.

Thomas Garek stood before the crowd of people in Sector Six. He was standing behind a podium in front of the governor's home, giving a eulogy to Williard Poore before the people he had overseen. Thomas wasn't particularly interested, however, although he hoped the people didn't know that. He had never cared for the welfare of Poore or any of the other governors. He saw them as squabbling idiots who all battled each other, only focusing on themselves, or, in some rare cases, the good of their people. But never were they interested in others, they were always selfish.  
But somebody needed to look like they had actually cared for Poore, and Thomas had been selected for the job for whatever reason.  
"Williard died an honorable death," Thomas said, coming to the conclusion of his eulogy, "He died trying to stop the Unnatural, an evil that no one man could hope to destroy by himself. He knew this full well, yet he stood up to them, armed with very little. Williard was brave, brave enough to stare into Death's very eyes. Death was offended at the insult and saw Williard as a threat; that is why he was taken. Death is a thing that all men fear, but not Williard. He wasn't afraid, and I don't think we should be either. We shouldn't let Death control us; we should be like this man lying in a coffin, who died a hero; we should look Death in the face and challenge him to a fight in his own game." The crowd cheered, clapped, and stood for Thomas. Thomas gave a courteous bow and walked from the podium and around the crowd. He walked into his car, where an assistant drove while another sat next to him, constantly informing him on things Thomas apparently needed to know. Usually this annoyed Thomas, but, this time, the assistant had something interesting.  
"Sir, Kristine Neff has gone missing."  
Thomas turned to him, "Missing?" he said, surprised.  
"She asked for a jet and disappeared off the map a few moments ago."  
"How?"  
"The jet appeared to be descending just before we lost contact with it. We fear she may have crashed."  
"Where?"  
"Outside the Sectors somewhere. She seemed to be heading to Sector Eight, but we have no idea what her intentions were."  
"Why not?"  
"She refused to tell the guards."  
"And they just let her walk by?"  
"Apparently, sir."  
"Someone's getting fired today. I need to know something else, though. We have a student who is supposed to be transferring from Sector Two into Sector One. Give me an update on that."  
"Caleb Watkins is under surveillance. We should have him in Sector One within forty-eight hours, sir."  
"We'd better hurry. Peyton wants him there before the Unnatural reach Sector One."  
"Why?"  
"Do you really think I ask the Head of the Secret Service why he wants something done?"  
"No, sir. I was just wondering what we must do once he arrives."  
"We're going to begin him with the standard Sector One training. However, once the Unnatural get there, we'll put him to a test. If he passes, we'll have victory over some of the Unnatural, if he doesn't, Peyton will be able to move to Plan B."  
"Which is?"  
"Project Zero."  
"Excuse me, sir, but what is Project Zero?"  
"I'm afraid I cannot say, partially because I do not know that much about the Project. I've already given you enough information, anyways. I cannot tell you more."

Ashley Moore stepped out of the car as a different person. She walked around the car and opened the door, letting Thomas Garek out and let him walk to his mansion. Ashley walked around the mansion, shifting when nobody was in sight. Now she was a common man, an average person walking home. She turned through the streets, nearly passing out from the stress of so many soldiers that were present. If she were caught, she didn't know what they would do to her. She had survived for two years on her own; running since she was twelve, since she had discovered her power. She had planned on running, but was discouraged when she saw that the Unnatural were coming. She knew she was one of them, and that they were gathering together. They would be here soon, she knew, so she had decided to wait. And then there was that conversation she had had with that strange woman; Kristine Neff.  
Ashley knew that she could survive on her own just by shapeshifting into different people. However, she didn't want to live like that. She didn't want to hide for much longer; she wanted to be accepted by somebody, anybody. And, if that somebody was someone just like her, that would be even better.

Stephen sat on a couch in the sitting room in the lab, watching Mark and Phoebe. They seemed so happy together. Stephen was happy for them, too, but he couldn't help but feel a little bit of curiosity.  
Stephen felt the couch next to him dip, and he instinctively leaned the other way so as to avoid falling in. He looked next to him and saw Gabe sitting next to him. "How'd you sneak up on me like that?" Stephen said.  
Gabe shrugged, "If I can be anything, I might as well be as loud as it. Besides, I've got experience."  
Stephen looked back at Mark and Phoebe, who sat next to each other in the lab, fingers entwined, speaking with Veronica and Byron. "How can they be so happy?" Stephen said.  
"What?"  
"They've barely known each other. How can they know they love each other?"  
Gabe was silent.  
"I think it's just an infatuation," Stephen continued, "Love's not that simple."'  
"You would know?"  
"Perhaps."  
"At least they're happy."  
"But they'll be devastated once the infatuation ends; they'll want to feel happy but won't be able to."  
"But, while it does last, they'll do anything to keep their happiness. Most people would."  
"But would other people help keep their happiness?"  
Again, Gabe was quiet. "You're a better listener than converser, you know that?" Stephen said. Gabe just shrugged.  
Kaytlen entered the room. "We're getting ready to go," she said, "We'd better hurry up and get out of here, or else those two are going to do something we really don't want to see."  
Stephen smiled politely at the joke, but kept wondering. If Mark and Phoebe were at odds in any way, what would Stephen do to help them?

Everyone else had gone into the small elevator that would take them back up to the surface. Byron turned around, seeing Veronica standing there. "Come on," Byron said, beckoning her to go into the elevator.  
"No, Byron," Veronica said, "I'm going to stay here."  
"No, Veronica, you're coming."  
"I need to stay here."  
"Why?"  
"Because there's some…research I have to do. Besides, you don't need me coming; it'll be better if there's as few people as possible."  
"No, it's not; you're coming with us, whether you like it or not," said Byron, grabbing Veronica's arm and dragging her forward. Veronica pulled back with surprising strength.  
"Byron, I'm staying-"  
"I'm not losing you again, Veronica!" Byron shouted, "I won't be back this way; if you don't come with us, we'll never see each other again."  
"I see," said Veronica, "So it's about you. You-"  
Suddenly, there was an explosion. "Hurry!" called Kaytlen. Byron grabbed Veronica, who was distracted, and dragged her to the elevator. He pushed them up. "Go up to the roof!" Veronica said, "They'll come in through the main entrance."  
The elevator rose slowly, but picked up quickly, ascending rapidly until they were on top of a roof.  
"Not a good idea," Mark said, pointing upwards, where a helicopter hovered above them. It opened fire. The Unnatural scattered across the roof. "We have to get down!" called Byron. Something exploded again. Metal creaked and the building shook. The building began to lean, then was falling, falling fast towards the ground. "Get to the next roof!" Veronica said. Gabe was the first one to jump, grabbing Kaytlen and jumping to the next roof. Stephen ran to Mark, who was closest to him, and grabbed his shoulder. The next moment, they were on the other side.  
The building was leaning dangerously now, almost at a forty-five degree angle. Byron was hanging on to the top edge of the roof. Veronica jumped for his hand, about to fall over. Byron grabbed her wrist, but he was barely able to hold both of them up. "Grab on!" he heard from below. After he felt another tug from below, he knew that Phoebe had grabbed ahold of Veronica. "Climb up!" he groaned.  
"Are you sure?" came Phoebe's nervous reply from below.  
"Yes; do it now!" The building was close to falling on its side now. Byron could feel Phoebe climbing up; the only way Byron was able to hold was through adrenaline.  
Soon Phoebe was climbing up Byron's body, pushing off his shoulder with her foot. "Jump to the ladder!" he yelled, referencing the ladder that led to the roof of the other building that the others were currently climbing down hastily. "Come on, Veronica!" Byron yelled. Veronica grabbed his leg and began climbing up. Byron swung his other hand up and grabbed the edge of the building. He was now holding on by his fingertips. Veronica climbed over him. She was on top of the building now, out of Byron's vision. That was good; she was probably safe. Byron looked down and saw the ground coming at him faster than before. Byron wondered why.  
And then he realized: he was falling. His grip had faltered and he was falling down to meet his death.  
Ah, well. It was bound to happen. Byron wasn't going to die of old age; he had known that for a long time.  
But was this how he was going to die? Broken and bloody in the road, crushed by the weight of a multi-story building? This wasn't what he had imagined.  
But, as he thought in the three seconds he was flying, he was content. He was okay with dying like this. He had saved his friends lives, and now they were safe. At least, he thought they were safe. He knew he could rely on Veronica to get them out and away from the Nation. In some ways, no, in most ways, Veronica was better than he. She was smarter, she thought more logically than he could ever hope to do.  
Just as suddenly as he had started, Byron stopped falling. He saw darkness. He felt weightless. This is it he thought to himself and this is fine.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Commence Battle

All of a sudden, Byron saw light. He covered his face with his hands. "W-where am I?" he stuttered.  
"Hurry!" he heard. Byron heard gunshots and helicopter blades. "Get him over here!" called another voice. Byron's body jolted and rocked, sending aches through his body. Byron heard the roar of fire and water mixed together, an unfamiliar and strange sound.  
Byron's body was placed on something hard and flat. "Where am I?" he repeated.  
"Byron?" came a voice. A familiar voice.  
"Veronica?" Byron said, blinking his eyes.  
"You've been out for a little while. Stephen got you while you were falling. We're between Sectors Seven and Eight right now, trying to get to Eight. You do remember, right?"  
"Absolutely," said Byron, blinking his stupor away. He saw Veronica's face above his. It was close.  
Byron sat up as Mark and Kaytlen approached. "We've pushed them back a little bit," Kaytlen said, "We should be able to go now."

Thomas Garek walked into the President's Mansion. He stopped just as the large iron doors slid shut behind him with a resounding, deep crash. Thomas knew he wouldn't have to go far; the President was expecting him. "It's done, sir," Thomas called into the empty hall that he stood before, "My men have completed the construction of Sector Nine."  
There was a pause. Thomas wondered if he had been heard at all until the shrill voice came back to him, "Wonderful job, Garek," Xandar said, "You completed the job much more quickly than I expected. You are to be rewarded. Would you appreciate the position that Williard Poore once held?"  
Thomas knew immediately that he could not take the situation of governor of Sector Six. "No, sir," Thomas said, "I do not deserve such a position, nor do I think I would be able to be successful in the job should I take it."  
"And why is that?"  
Should Thomas lie? That probably wasn't a good idea. The President would know if he did so. "Well, President," Thomas said, slowly, "I do not think I could do well as the administrator over such a large amount of people, especially in Sector Six."  
"But that's not why you refuse my offer," Xandar's voice echoed throughout the hall.  
Beads of sweat began to form on Thomas' forehead. He might as well tell Xandar the truth; he probably knew already.  
"I would like to stay in Sector Nine," Thomas said, "Perhaps as the governor, or something else. I don't care, really, I just want to stay there."  
"And why is that?"  
"Because I would like to watch over the Unnatural."  
There was a pause. "I see," said the President, "Well, you may have your wish. You may govern over Sector Nine, but keep a careful watch on the Unnatural. Do not fail."  
"Yes, sir."

Peyton looked over his creation with awe. "It's even better than I thought it would be," he whispered to himself, staring at the product that he called Project Zero.  
"You will be the savior," he said, running his hand along it, "You will save our Nation, and you will save what is left of this world."

Kristine looked over her throne room. It was perfect, a long hall dirt walls fortified by iron that curved upwards into a marvelous dome. This was where a revolution would begin, she knew, and where the world would be saved.  
There was a bang at the door, and screams. Kristine stood, drawing her sword, which was made out of the tooth of an ancient dragon. There came crashes from outside, and a group of guards assembled in defensive positions around her. The crashes soon stopped, but, instead of easing, the tension only seemed to grow.  
"I remember this place," came a high voice from behind Kristine. She turned around, swinging her sword in the direction of the voice. There was nothing there. "This was my home," came the voice again. The guards around Kristine all fell, brought down by some mysterious force. The door opened in the front of the room. In walked a single man, his steps slow and deliberate.  
"And that," he said, pointing at Kristine, "Was my throne."  
"Xandar," said Kristine, the grip around her sword tightening.  
"Oh, it's me," he said, "In the flesh!" He looked down at his hand, which was yellow and seemed rotten, "Or whatever you call this stuff." He took a step closer.  
"Don't come any closer, monster," Kristine said, showing him her sword.  
"A sword," Xandar said, not stopping, "A most noble sword that belonged to a warrior of days far past. A warrior I knew personally."  
"Then you'll know what the sword is able to do."  
"Why so aggressive," Xandar said, a smile dancing across his already contorted face, "Crystal?"  
Kristine nearly dropped her sword when she heard that name. Her old name. Nobody remembered her by that name, and those who did never used it.  
"Do not call me that," she said, her voice dropping, "Evan."  
Xandar laughed when she said his old name. "Then we know each other," Xandar said.  
"Why have you come?"  
"Because I wanted to tell you something."  
"What is it?"  
"You think I oppose you," Xandar said, "You see me as your enemy. Well, fear no longer, I have no interest in demolishing your pitiful outpost yet. In fact, you're doing exactly what I want here."  
"And that is?"  
"We are both aware of the Leonic threat, are we not?" Kristine nodded. She knew exactly what Xandar spoke of all too well.  
"You're trying to destroy the Nation I've built," continued Xandar, "And I thank you for that."  
Kristine was shocked. "You want me to destroy your Nation?"  
"Not necessarily. I don't want you to destroy it, and you never could. You don't have the might and you're too focused on tradition, never embracing new ways or technology. I do want there to be war, however, and I do want the Nation to be crippled, perhaps even beyond repair."  
"And why would you want that?"  
"So that I can get out," Xandar said. He turned and began walking out the door. "Wait!" screamed Kristine, dropping her sword. She ran forward at him, but he was out the door already. The door slammed behind him, and Kristine stopped.  
She turned back and walked back to her throne across the mass of dead soldiers, composing herself. She sat in her throne and began to think of her conversation with Xandar.  
She was being played. Kristine was being used by an old…acquaintance as a puppet for his own interests.  
Kristine would not be used like this. Xandar may have been right about one thing: she could not destroy the Nation in her current state. However, there was one thing Xandar did not know.  
Xandar did not know of her plan for the Unnatural.

The other Unnatural were asleep. They were just outside of Sector Eight's Boundary. Byron sat awake, as he usually did. However, this time he was not in a Dive. He was searching for the next Unnatural. He was inside the minds of every single person in Sector Eight, sorting through them and trying to find the next person to add to their group.  
Suddenly, Byron found it. But…Byron couldn't see anything from Kyle Hunter's current perspective. It was night from Kyle's perspective, but he was behind the group of Unnatural, a fire blazing in front of them. They stood around Byron, who sat on the ground, screaming, a body in his arms, hands covered in blood.  
"Byron?"  
Veronica's voice snapped Byron's eyes back open. It was still night, but Byron could tell that he had been gone for several hours.  
"Yes, Veronica?"  
"There's something I need to tell you."  
For a moment, Byron's hopes raised. Was this the moment he had been waiting for years?  
"I lied." Byron's hopes then fell. She wasn't going to tell him what he had hoped.  
"About what?" said Byron.  
"When I said I had to stay in the lab, it wasn't for research."  
"Then why?"  
"The day before you guys showed up, I was in the lab. I don't remember exactly what I was doing, but I just remember this man being there all of a sudden. He told me something, and that's why I wanted to stay."  
Byron had a feeling that he knew exactly who had spoken with Veronica. "What did this man look like?"  
"Not human," Veronica said, "He had yellow skin, with claws. His face was misshapen and his eyes were yellow and bloodshot. His voice was high and he always had this grin on his face that unnerved me."  
"I know of whom you speak."  
"Really?"  
"Yes. We've had a few run-ins with him before."  
"Who is he?"  
"I'm not sure, but I know that he is one with great power. He claims to be the one that had Sector Seven overrun."  
"What?"  
"I'll explain later. What did the man say to you?"  
"He told me something that scared me. I never wanted to leave the laboratory again after what he said. He said that, on the ni-"  
A gunshot went off. Byron jumped up, Veronica behind him. A helicopter touched the ground just a few yards away from their encampment. "Wake the others!" said Byron, "Hurry!"  
Byron shook Mark awake, making him grumble in his sleep, "Wake up, Mark!" Byron pleaded. Next to him, Phoebe awoke, possibly startled by the sudden amount of metal in her vicinity. Phoebe stood slowly, taking in her situation. She reached out to the helicopter, finding the source of its fuel. She broke it open and made a spark with the metal. The resulting explosion sent soldiers flying, but didn't kill all of them. Phoebe saw Gabe run up to one of the fallen soldiers and grab his gun, absorbing the material. Stephen appeared out of nowhere, kicking a soldier back down after he tried to stand up. Mark stumbled awake, igniting a flame from his lighter and calling it to him hand. For a moment, it seemed like the Unnatural might make it out unharmed.  
Suddenly, Veronica felt something connect with her cheek as she was trying to awake Kaytlen. She fell down, tasting blood in her mouth. She looked up, seeing Kaytlen awake, a soldier with his rifle aimed at her. Veronica screamed and threw herself in front of the soldier just as he pulled the trigger.  
This time, something connected with Veronica's chest, and it felt like a ten-ton bus going a hundred miles an hour had just smacked her in that precise location. Veronica fell, Kaytlen scrambling from underneath her. Veronica's vision blurred. She could feel her heart slowing. The soldier in front of her fell to ground, dead. She heard Kaytlen scream something, and saw Byron instantly by her side. Veronica felt herself being lifted, but only a little bit. She could hear Byron saying something, but she didn't care.  
"That man, in the lab," she coughed. Byron paused, listening, "He t-told me that I-he told me that the night I left the lab-He told me that I would die again." Veronica's vision was fading. She knew this feeling all too well, "B-but he also…" Veronica didn't have the strength to say anything more, "He also told me t-that I…that I…" She couldn't speak at all now; all she could do was watch.  
She could only watch Byron's face as she drifted into the all-consuming darkness.  
Drifted deeper.  
And deeper.  
And deeper.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Premonitions

Byron couldn't think. All he could do was watch. He could only watch as Veronica slipped out of consciousness, out of life. He could feel her breath slowing and eventually stopping. "No!" he screamed, "You're not dead! You're not fooling me again, Veronica, wake up!" He shook her, but to no avail. Veronica was gone; unable to cheat the unbreakable force of Death again.  
The others circled around him, but he didn't care. The only thing he knew was this moment, another time where his memory would be scarred. He knew he wouldn't be able to put this behind him as he could everything else. This would be a part of him until the day he died.  
Byron laid Veronica's body on the ground, "I was wrong," he said. He thought back to his conversation with the strange man on the roof, how he said their quest would only succeed when they tried a different plan, but that Byron would lose the one he once loved again, "I did love somebody."  
"Byron?" came an unfamiliar voice from behind him. Byron looked back and saw a new face. Behind them was a boy, fourteen at the most. His hair was orange and twisted. He was small, barely five feet high and possessing little to no muscle. Byron had never seen the boy in before in his life, but he knew exactly who he was. "Kyle Hunter," Byron said, standing. "Sector Eight's Unnatural."  
"Yes," Kyle said, "And you're Byron Peters, Mark Konners, Phoebe Burton, Stephen Jaxon, Gabriel Ramsey, and Kaytlen Williams."  
"You're another telepath," Mark said, surprised.  
"No," said both Byron and Kyle at the same time.  
"He's a premonitionist," Byron said.  
"A what?" said Mark.  
"A premonitionist," Byron repeated, "He can see the near future just as well as he can see the present. Am I correct?" Byron said, turning to Kyle, who nodded.  
Mark began to say something, but Kyle interrupted. "No," he said, "I can't tell that. At least, I can't tell on purpose. It just…happens. I automatically know what's going to happen, but I can't tell what I want to know when I want to know it."  
"Do you know who our next companion is?" Byron asked, testing the boy's abilities.  
"Ashley Moore," Kyle said, "It's going to be hard to find her, though. She does something that makes her difficult to find, but I can't say what. She's also in Sector One, which will be difficult to infiltrate."  
"It'll take a little while to get there, too," said Phoebe.  
"No," said Byron, "There's a train taking transfers to Sector One today. We can jump on it."  
"We're going to Sector One," said Mark.  
"Duh," said Stephen.  
"And it's been a week since I left," Mark continued, ignoring the sarcastic remark from Stephen, "Caleb should be there."  
"Who?" said Phoebe.  
"A friend," Mark said, "Caleb Watkins."  
"The tracks aren't far from here," Kyle said, "If we go now, we'll be able to jump on before it gets very far."  
"Alright," Byron said, "Let's go."  
The others started to walk away, but Byron lingered, standing over Veronica's body. She looked so peaceful now. She hadn't died in pain, necessarily, Byron knew that.  
Byron wished so much that he could enter Veronica's mind now. But he couldn't read a dead person's thoughts; they didn't have any. But Byron wanted to know one thing, at least. He wanted to know if Veronica had loved him like he had her.  
But Byron couldn't show any weakness to the others. He was their leader, after all. He had to be brave, if not for any other reason, for them.

The Unnatural did board the train and were able to mingle with the few other people who were already present. They rode the train for the rest of the day, the locomotive stopping at each Sector, with the exception of Seven, and picking up a load of transfers. None of them seemed to recognize the Unnatural, but that fact made Byron uncomfortable. Why wouldn't they recognize them? They didn't blend in that much, especially given how diverse there group was in physique. Byron was on edge the whole train ride.  
The train stopped at night in Sector Two. Most of the people were asleep, but not Mark. He was back at home; his journey had come full circle. He felt something drawing him somewhere. He stood, silently walking over the sleeping transfers. He quietly opened the door to the train and slipped out, unnoticed.  
Or so he thought.  
Mark walked through the quiet streets of Sector Two. He had been gone for only a week, but it had seemed like a lifetime. He had witnessed countless deaths, of friends and enemies. He had met people who were like him and who wanted what was best for him, one especially so.  
Mark stopped, hearing something behind him. He turned, seeing Byron following him. "What are you doing?" Mark said.  
"I don't know," Byron answered, "I feel like something's calling me, drawing me to something." Mark nodded. "I feel it, too," he said.  
"What do you think it is?"  
"I don't know exactly," Mark said, "But I think I want to go home." Mark knew that this was impossible, of course; he had burnt it down a week ago.  
Byron was silent. He kept walking. "Where was your home?" he said eventually. "Not far," Mark answered bluntly. "I don't know what happened to them," he said after a moment, "My family. I have no idea where they went or even if they survived. I mean, I'm pretty sure they did, but I don't know."  
"I know the feeling," Byron said. Mark immediately felt bad. Byron's mother had died yesterday, and Mark was sure he didn't want to think of that.  
They turned a corner, seeing a large, charred square of grass, making an awkward gap in the long line of houses. "This is where it was," Mark said, standing in front of the black lawn. Byron stood next to him, and the two sat in silence.

While Mark was remembering the tragedy that had begun his journey, Kristine Neff was having a wonderful time. Earlier that day, an unexpected leap had occurred in her plan.  
Her scouts had returned with news. "We've found one of the Unnatural," they had told her, "She was wandering outside of Sector Eight, calling for somebody."  
Kristine's interest had spiked. 'Does she know where the rest are going next?"  
"Yes, Your Majesty," said one of the scouts, "They're going to Sector One next to collect the last Unnatural."  
"I would advise acting quickly, Your Highness," said Matthew Scott, "They will be out of the Nation as soon as the last one joins their party. If you are to win them to your side, you need to move as fast as possible."  
"Agreed," Kristine said, "Prepare transportation for me."

Peyton couldn't imagine how quickly his Project had advanced. It was ready to be sent out now; he would have the Unnatural in his possession before the day ended, he hoped.  
Now he stood before Project Zero in its full glory. It was ready for action, and he knew that it would not fail like Project Leon had.  
Peyton had put millions of dollars and countless hours into this Project. Not only that, but he had promised the President that he would have the Unnatural by the time they tried to leave. Now they would not have to worry about being invaded again, and Peyton would be safe.  
And, in that safety, Peyton would be able to find a way back home. Maybe even with his daughter.  
Project Zero opened its eyes for the first time, all three of them. It stared Peyton in the face. "Go," Peyton said, "You know what you are to do. The Unnatural are in Sector Two, and will be delayed there for the night. You have until morning to at least split them up. From there, you will be able to capture them easily."  
The Project didn't respond. It just walked past Peyton and out the door.  
Peyton stood there, in the lab, watching his creation walk stiffly out of the building. Peyton wondered, then, for the first time, what he had just created. Had he, the brilliant scientist, just created a way to sustain life?  
Or had he, the brilliant scientist, a Dr. Frankenstein, just created some kind of monster?

Byron stood up straight. "I feel her," he said, turning and running.  
"Wait-what?" cried Mark, following him.  
"She's here!" Byron said, running through the streets just as well as a native of the Sector. He ran to the center of the Sector. Just as Mark caught up with him, the sun began to rise. Mist crawled along the ground, rising with the sun. The mist was thick, and, through it, Mark could see one figure's outline. He knew exactly who it was, though, and so did Byron, who ran forward, colliding with the figure in an embrace.  
"Veronica," Byron said, "Again?"  
"I can't explain it," Veronica said.  
"You died. How did you-" Byron stopped, and then looked up into Veronica's eyes, "You're one of us."  
"Yes," said Veronica, bringing her head close to Byron's.  
"Stop," Byron said, backing away, "You're not Veronica."  
"What do you mean?"  
"You're not Veronica," Byron repeated, "Who are you?"  
"I am Veronica," she pleaded.  
"No you're not. Don't try to fool me!"  
The woman smiled evilly. "You've fooled yourself," she said. Her skin began to change. It churned and swirled, and, eventually, a monstrosity stood before Byron.  
It was still a woman, or, at least, appeared to be, but it was not a full human. It had three eyes and was easily a foot and a half taller than Byron.  
Byron barely had time to look into the thing's eyes before he felt something pierce the back of his throat. He felt a brief sting of pain before he collapsed.

Mark ran forward, fire leaping into his palm. He shot it forward at the woman, but she looked at him, extending her palm towards him. A stream of water flew from her hand, colliding with Mark's pillar of fire. Mark was pushed back, but he refused to be drowned in hopelessness. He had to get to Byron. Mark called his fire back, but ducked under the water that flew at him. He stood and ran to Byron, throwing a fireball at the woman. The fire collided with her body, but she just stood, unharmed. Soldiers leaped out from their hiding places around the Sector's center, aiming their guns at Mark. Mark didn't care about them, though. He could handle them easily enough. Mark was at Byron's side. He created a wall of fire around them as the soldiers opened fire. The heat of the fire was so intense that the bullets exploded upon contact. "Byron!" Mark shouted. Not Byron. He couldn't be dead, he who had led Mark and the other Unnatural so far. Not he who had gone through so much to end the persecution of those like him. He couldn't be dead.  
And he wasn't. At least, not yet. Mark felt a pulse on him, and Byron still drew in breath.  
The sun was rising quickly. Mark could hear the whistle of the train as it announced its disembarkment.  
Byron blinked open his eyes, jumping when he saw the fire around him and heard the gunshots. "Byron!" Mark said, "We have to go! The train's leaving!" Byron hurriedly stood. "We can still catch it! But, could you do something about these soldiers?" Byron knew what Mark meant. He wanted him to kill the soldiers by crushing their minds. Byron didn't really want to, but he knew it was the only way they would be able to get out safely in time to reach the train. He entered the minds of the soldiers, feeling each individual's mind. He knew how to kill someone like this; he had done so many times before, more than he liked to admit. But, as he began the process, he was stopped somehow. He tried again, but…  
"I can't!" he shouted, "I can't do it!"


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Unnatural's Master

"What do you mean?" said Mark, "Of course you can!"  
"No, I can't!" Byron repeated, "I'm completely unable to!"  
"What?"  
"That dart," Byron said, "It took away my power!"  
They stood, surrounded by fire, looking each other in the eye. This was the first time Byron wanted to panic since they had met. Not even Veronica's death had made Byron this so insecure, so powerless. Maybe sad, perhaps angry, but not incapable.  
"I can still read their minds, but I can't collapse them," Byron said, getting ahold of himself. Mark nodded and extended his wall of fire, clearing a path for them. "We can still get out," he said, "Sector Two isn't that big."

Phoebe was hyperventilating. Neither Mark nor Byron could be found in the train car. She was on the verge of throwing the train off of its tacks and crushing it, but the others managed to calm her.  
"They'll be at Sector One," Stephen said, "We can meet up with them then."  
"What if they're not?" Phoebe said, "What if they're hurt?"  
"They're not," Stephen tried to assure her, "They're fine."  
"How can you know?"  
"I'm not sure if you know Mark or Byron that well. They'll be able to take care of themselves."  
Phoebe didn't fully believe Stephen, but she decided to act like she did. Maybe he was right; maybe they would meet them at Sector One. But Phoebe doubted it.  
"We'll get there before them," Stephen continued, "and we'll find Ashley. We'll wait for them there, and then, when they catch up, we'll leave."

Kristine walked down the ramp of her jet. She was back in her stiff, cold assistant's uniform, but it was a necessary sacrifice in order for her to have her victory.  
"You're alright, Mrs. Neff?" said one of the airport guards.  
"Yes," she answered, "Why would I not be?"  
"Your jet disappeared off the grid yesterday. We thought that it had crashed."  
"No, I just had some business to attend to in Sector Eight," she said, "I have no idea why the jet may have disappeared."  
"Understood," the guard said, letting her pass. Kristine walked through and traveled to Thomas Garek's headquarters. She entered, walking past the security checkpoint without stopping. It didn't matter; the metal detector wouldn't pick up her bone knife. Someone tried to stop her, but she ignored them. She walked up the stairs, preferring them to the elevator, and up to Thomas Garek's office. She entered the room without permission, focusing on her goal. She shut the door behind her, reaching behind her and locking it.  
In the room, Garek was talking on his telephone. Why he owned such an old-fashioned thing, Kristine didn't know, but it was one of the things that she appreciated about Thomas Garek; he still kept something from the past.  
"The boy should be arriving sometime today," he was saying, "As should the Unnatural. We can put him to the test today." He looked up at Kristine, glaring. She could tell she was interrupting something important. That was good.  
"Absolutely," Thomas said, "I will inform him of this. Good." Thomas put the phone down, glaring at Kristine.  
"What are you doing here?"  
"You're not glad I'm here?" she said, pretending to be amazed, "You thought I was dead."  
"I did think you were dead," Thomas said, "But why would you think that I would be glad to see you?"  
"I don't know," said Kristine, reaching into the pocket of her skirt, "Maybe now you won't have to do everything by yourself. But I guess there would be a reason that you wouldn't want me here."  
"What?" said Thomas, confused. Kristine pulled her hand out of her pocket, revealing the knife made from dracnae teeth. She jumped at Thomas, pushing him against his desk and holding the knife against his throat. The flesh on his neck began to brown and smoke.  
"Do you know what this blade is made out of?" Kristine said.  
"Kristine?" Thomas said, panicking, "What are you doing?"  
"It's made out of the tooth of a southern dracnae," Kristine continued, "The acid that it holds is potent enough to burn human flesh. Do you know where I got this blade?"  
Thomas leaned his head back, getting his neck as far away from the knife as possible.  
"I ripped it from the beast's mouth myself. I made it into a dagger, and it has claimed dozens of lives since. Do you even know what a dracnae is, oh mighty war coordinator?" Kristine said sarcastically, "Of course you don't. They went extinct long ago. I've managed to survive since then, cheating Death and old age ever since."  
"Why are you here?" Thomas managed to say.  
"I want to make sure you know something," Kristine said, pushing the knife closer to Thomas' neck, "you are after the Unnatural. You want to imprison them. I tell you: beware, for I am also. Do not cross my path, and you will survive another day. But remember this: today, the Unnatural are mine."  
"Is that any way to treat nobility, oh daughter of mine?" came a voice from behind them. Kristine jumped and looked behind her. Sitting in one of the chairs, a coffee mug in his hand, sat Xandar.  
"You," said Kristine, letting Thomas go and facing Xandar, "I am no family of yours."  
"Oh, yes you are, dearest, and you know it!" said the maniac, "You cannot deny it!"  
"Yes I can," said Kristine, "I can deny it all I want. You are not my father. You left us, chasing our mother away, leaving me to take care of two siblings and a kingdom!"  
"If only you knew the truth," Xandar said, shaking his head. He put the mug down and stood slowly, "I did not abandon you, Crystal. Your mother did. She took me and locked me up, using me as her test subject for her dark magic. She-"  
"No!" Kristine said, "You left us! I can't begin to tell you how much we were hurt because of that! And now that Ariana and Bartholomew are gone-" Kristine choked, "I have nobody left!"  
"That's not true, Cry-"  
"Don't call me that!"  
"You would prefer your modern name instead of your traditional name?"  
"Leave!" Kristine yelled, "Get out of my sight."  
Xandar stood, looking intently into Kristine's eyes. "As you wish," he whispered. He turned and walked towards the window. He stepped into the glass and disappeared.  
Kristine heard a voice behind her. "What the he-"  
"You," she said, turning back towards Thomas, "You've seen too much."  
"Go ahead," said Thomas, "Kill me. Run me through with that…magic knife of yours. You'll just be like him," he said, implying Xandar.  
"And that's exactly why I'm not going to kill you," Kristine said, "I am not Evan. But you will tell nobody of our meeting, or of the words spoken in this room today, or I may just forget my identity."  
With that, Kristine marched out the door and downstairs. She exited the building, and walked to the train station. She had heard Thomas talking about a transfer, one that the Unnatural would be drawn to. She hoped the war coordinator had been right.  
This could be the day Kristine's victory was ensured.

Phoebe stepped off of the train and into the bright afternoon of Sector One. "You're our locator now," she said to Kyle, "Where are we going to find Ashley?"  
"Where we least expect her," Kyle responded.  
"Thanks for the specificity," Phoebe mumbled.  
They were shuffled into a line that led to some sort of checkpoint.  
"We can't go through there," Stephen said, "They'll take a sample of our blood and find out who we are. That is, if they haven't already just by seeing us."  
"So teleport us out of here," Gabe said.  
"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Stephen said, "There are too many people here; someone's bound to see us disappear."  
"It's our only option," Phoebe said.  
"Alright," Stephen said, "Hold on."

Thomas Garek barely had time to recover from the attack. A few moments after Kristine exited, Thomas ran out of the office and down the stairs. "Vargas!" he said, summoning his advisor and Kristine's successor, Randy Vargas. "Yes, sir?" the man said, almost instantly by Thomas' side. "I want the forces against the Unnatural to intensify."  
"Yes, sir," Vargas said, "If I may ask, sir, what happened to your neck?"  
"I'll explain later," Thomas said.  
"Mr. Garek!" called another assistant, rushing to his side, "The Unnatural have been seen disembarking from the transfer train just a few minutes ago," she reported, "They just teleported away; we don't know where they are."  
"But they are here," said Thomas.  
"Yes, sir."  
"What about Caleb Watkins? Is he here, as well?"  
"Yes, sir. He also disembarked today."  
"Good. Get him in as soon as possible. I want the Unnatural found and captured, as well, as quickly as possible."

The Unnatural came out in an alley next to a man. The man jumped, screaming. He ran away. "Go after him!" Kyle said, "He's her!"  
"What?" most of them said, confused.  
"You'll find out later! Just go after her! Er, him…her…whatever! Just go!" The Unnatural took off, chasing the man.  
Stephen teleported in front of the man. "What?" the man said, turning around, but seeing Gabe standing, waiting for him. The man ducked under Gabe's punch and sprinted forward. Phoebe ran at him, but the man was, somehow, more agile then he seemed. He stepped around Phoebe and continued his mad dash. Kaytlen spewed water at him, but he ducked under it without stopping. He reached the end of the alley and seemed to be free. However, Kyle saw that he would do all this. Kyle was waiting behind the alley, anticipating the man's exit. At just the right second, Kyle sprang up and tackled the man. He fell to the ground with a grunt. The man's skin began to swirl and change, and, soon, Kyle was lying on a girl. He stood up off the girl. "We're not going to hurt you," he said. The girl looked up. "Ashley Moore, right?" said Kyle.  
The girl nodded and stood. "So you guys are the Unnatural?" she said. Kyle nodded. "It took you long enough," she said.  
"What do you mean?" said Phoebe, walking over to Kyle and Ashley.  
"I've been waiting for you for a while now," Ashley explained, "I've seen you everywhere. On TV, in news, even just listening to people's conversations. I've been waiting for you to come and pick me up. We're leaving now, right?"  
"Not quite," said Phoebe, "We're not all here. Byron and Mark aren't here. Do you know if they will be here, Kyle?"  
"They will," Kyle said, "But it won't be fun finding them."

Byron and Mark had managed to get into Sector One near the train station. They met little opposition. They snuck around the train, hoping to go around the Sector.  
"I'll try to find Phoebe," Byron said. Mark nodded; that was their best chance at finding the others.  
"Excuse me," came a voice from behind them. Mark shoved his hand into his pocket, ready to bring out the lighter at any second. He turned around, seeing a woman behind them. She wore a grey uniform and looked like some sort of official. Byron turned, a shocked look on his face.  
"You're surprised to see me," the woman noted, "And I could see why. You didn't feel my mind as I approached. Now you're trying to look in and you are finding nothing. There is a reasonable explanation, do not worry. Your ability is not growing weak. I am merely outside of your abilities. I am not affected by them. Much like another person you know," she said. All three of them knew of whom this woman spoke. "However," she continued, "I will not keep you in the dark. You may call me Kristine Neff, although that is not my real name."  
"What do you want?" Byron said.  
"You," Kristine said. She reached into her pocket, pulling out several small darts. Byron and Mark jumped to either side, avoiding the darts. They had grown used to reacting quickly, and their Unnatural instincts helped them. Mark struck a spark on his lighter and pulled it into his hand. He threw the fire forward, using the energy from his environment to feed the flame. Kristine leaped out of the way, tossing more darts at Mark, but they were easily consumed by the flame. Byron ran at Kristine, who threw more darts, but Byron was able to dodge them. "You'll make excellent tools," she said, jumping out of the way of another fireball. "What?" said Byron, "Explain what you're doing! Who are you?"  
"I told you," Kristine said, ducking under a blow from Byron. She brought her own fist up, connecting it with his armpit, sending him down, "I am Kristine Neff."  
Kristine moved towards Mark, ducking under the fire that he sent forward. Mark heard gunshots behind him. Kristine stopped. Mark looked behind him and saw soldiers moving in close to him. He spewed fire at them, creating a wall. He looked back at Kristine just in time to see a dart flying towards his chest.  
And then he was asleep.


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Friend

When Mark awoke, he heard shouts around him. People were angry. A large mob of people. Mark was on his knees on a hard surface, his hands restrained behind him. He couldn't see.  
"And now I will call upon a randomly chosen transfer who shall, if he wishes, put an end to this monster!" someone near Mark shouted, presumably to the crowd. There was a rustling sound next to Mark, and, for a suspenseful second, the announcer said nothing. When he finally did, he shouted, "Caleb Watkins!"  
Caleb. Mark's best friend. What was he doing here? What was going on?  
The crowd cheered. Mark could hear footsteps. "If you complete this task," the announcer said, "You will automatically move to the next stage of training."  
"This criminal!" the announcer said, "Is guilty of several crimes, among them arson, murder, and terrorism! You, Caleb Watkins, must put an end to his life."  
"Yes, sir," Mark heard the familiar voice of his friend say. Mark could hear footsteps again. He heard the clicking of a gun, and felt something tug on his head. Something slipped off of his head, and Mark could suddenly see again. "Mark?" Caleb said in surprise. He stood but a few feet away, holding a pistol to Mark's forehead.  
"Caleb," Mark said, "Don't listen to them, they're wrong. I didn't do any of those things on purpose. I-"  
"Kill the Unnatural!" said the announcer's voice from behind Mark.  
"I can't!" Caleb said, the gun shaking in his hand.  
"Do it and prove yourself worthy of Sector One!"  
"Kill the Unnatural!" The crowd cheered.  
"He's not a criminal!" Caleb pleaded, "He's my friend!"  
"We all have to make sacrifices for the greater good," the announcer said, "Kill him!"  
"No! I won't!"  
"You must!"  
"No!" Caleb threw the gun, and chaos broke loose.  
The crowd surged forward, trying to break through the barrier of guards who stood to keep them under control.  
"I was afraid that you would refuse," the announcer said, seemingly disappointed, "However, this could work to our advantage."  
Two guards came up behind Caleb and grabbed his arms. "Wait, what're you doing?" Caleb said.  
"If you will not kill an Unnatural, perhaps you should become one," the announcer said as the guards dragged Caleb off kicking and screaming.  
"Choose another transfer!" called someone from in the crowd.  
"No!" the announcer said, "This was a test for the boy. We will still be able to use Mark Konners for our good."  
"Wait-" Mark began to say, pleading for answers. However, he saw darkness again and faded out of consciousness.

Kyle saw it coming too late. Even if he had had enough warning, he doubted he would have been able to warn the others. What he saw was just too strange. He wouldn't have been able to comprehend what it was.  
Out of nowhere appeared a tall woman. She had three eyes, each a different color. She appeared out of the air and kicked Gabe in the head, knocking him out. She disappeared into thin air. "What was that?" cried Phoebe.  
"Duck!" yelled Kyle. Phoebe did so, and the woman appeared again, flying over Phoebe's head. "She's going for Phoebe!" Kyle said. Stephen disappeared and reappeared next to Phoebe, where he blocked another blow to Phoebe. "Watch out, Kaytlen!" Kyle yelled. Kaytlen threw water forward, connecting it to the woman's body. However, the woman was not affected. The woman just threw the water back at Kaytlen, sending her flying backwards. The woman disappeared before the water could hit the ground. Kyle tried to see where she went, but only saw darkness. Quite literally, actually, for he felt something hard hit his head, and he went down.


	20. Chapter Nineteen: Answers

Was it a dream? Mark didn't know. Right now, he felt like it had been. That whole week felt like one long, horrible dream, a figment of his imagination. Mark only saw darkness, so he assumed that he would be waking up soon, in the comfort of his bed. He would go downstairs and eat and then go to school.  
But it was not to be.  
A light flickered on in front of Mark. He was against the wall of an empty room. He couldn't move. He heard voices outside, and a door opened on the opposite side of the room. A man walked in. He wasn't very tall, but he wasn't short either. He wore a black hat and glasses. He closed the door behind him, walking slowly to the center of the room.  
"Mark Konners," the man said, gazing over Mark, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person. My name is Peyton Burton."  
"Where am I?" Mark said flatly.  
"You are in the Secret Service Headquarters, located miles outside of the Sector's boundaries. You wanted to come out here, so I gave you your wish."  
"Why am I here?"  
"That," Peyton said, "Is a long story. But we have a little bit of time, so I shall relate to you your origin story.  
"Our Nation has been here for millennia, so long that nobody can remember when or why our Nation was founded. The only person who knows why is President Xandar. However, one thing we know is that we are not alone here.  
"Outside of this Nation, somewhere, is a race called the Leonics. They are a people bent on war and destruction. We do not know where, exactly, the Leonics come from, but we do know that it is not this earth; they are something unhuman. I believe you have run into one before," Mark knew exactly who Peyton was talking about. The man they had met in Sector Four and later in Sector Seven.  
"Just over a hundred years ago," Peyton continued, "the Leonics attacked and nearly destroyed our Nation. The only way we won the terrible war was through our advanced technology and superior numbers. However, we did not completely wipe the Leonics out. There were a few remaining tribes, and they have disappeared to somewhere outside of the Sectors. We knew they wouldn't be gone for long, though, so we came up with a plan.  
"The plan did take a few decades to be put into action, but we were able to complete it. We called it Project Leon. We took six babies, later two more, and experimented on them. We were trying to give them powers that would help us should another Leonic invasion take place. One of them was my daughter. I believe you…know her. Her name is Phoebe," Peyton looked up at Mark. He knew of the relationship between the two, "The experiments failed, however, at least, immediately. We sent you back to the Sectors and split you up, one in each Sector. We thought that your powers would never come, but we monitored you, anyways. We followed you, trying to see of any signs of your abilities growing. And, until a week ago, we didn't see anything.  
"But then Byron Peters showed up. We discovered that he had an Unnatural ability, but he was not the Unnatural we were monitoring. This sent us into a flurry of panic, but we eventually found the source of his ability. His mother had been one of the scientists who had helped us in Project Leon. She managed to recreate the serum that made had given you your abilities, and she succeeded.  
"Then you showed up. We decided that our Project had been a success, but you were too dangerous to be kept alive. The Leonics hadn't shown up for centuries, so we decided to kill you."  
"Who's we?" said Mark.  
"I guess I should clarify. I was not involved in wanting to kill you; it was the rest of the Council. They were the ones who wanted to send legions in and kill you. I persuaded them to do otherwise, however. We can never be too prepared, I told them. They listened to me, and spared your lives. We dug up some old paralyzing serum, improved upon it, and decided to use it against you. It not only immobilizes your body, but also the extra DNA we gave you."  
"What DNA?"  
"I'm afraid I've talked with you far too long," Peyton said, "There are others that must hear this story. Goodbye, Mark, and thank you for your time."

"You left me," Phoebe said accusingly, "You left me with your brother and you expect me to forgive you?"  
Peyton felt the urge to cringe. He couldn't show any signs of weakness, though, especially not in front of Phoebe. He had refused the guard's efforts to restrain her. He wouldn't speak with his daughter like that; she had to know that Peyton did care for her. He had let them sedate her powers when she was unconscious, though, just in case. However, Phoebe didn't pace the room, like Peyton did. She remained still, watching, glaring at Peyton every time he moved. "I had no idea how he would turn out," Peyton said, honestly enough, "I didn't know that he or his wife would abuse you. I honestly didn't. At the time, I honestly thought that it would protect you."  
"From what?"  
"The knowledge of you being involved with Project Leon. If your mother and I had kept you, you would have known about it much sooner than now. We knew that that could have, and would, most likely, have, hurt you."  
"Why didn't you take me back later, then?"  
"I considered it. However, after seeing what your mother went through under the pressure of being related to the Head of the Secret Service…I didn't want that for you."  
"You could have quit," Phoebe said, "You could have left the Service."  
"No," Peyton said, shaking his head mournfully, "There is no leaving the Service. To do so would mean certain death. It's too dangerous."  
"If you really loved me, you would have risked it."  
"And left you fatherless, knowing that your adoptive parents were just that? I would've died soon after you found out. That would have crippled you even more than you already were. Believe me, that was what was best for you at the time, even if it did hurt you, physically and emotionally."  
"You're lying," Phoebe said through gritted teeth, "You left me with him," she spit out the word, referring to Peyton's brother, with disgust, "to pursue your own career, your own desires," Phoebe's voice rose, "You left me with him so that I wouldn't get in the way of you succeeding. You don't love me, not at all."  
Phoebe lept at Peyton. Peyton jumped out of her way and slammed his fist against a button on the wall. A glass sheet came down, blocking Phoebe from Peyton. "And now look at you," Phoebe said, colliding with the glass, "You're locking me away in some prison in your headquarters. You're going to use me as your tool to get what you want."  
"I love you, Phoebe," Peyton said, ignoring Phoebe's hateful words, "You might not see it, but I genuinely do."

As Peyton walked out of the door, his daughter screaming at him as he did so, he struggled to compose himself. His conversation with Phoebe had disrupted his usually calm stature, although he should have expected that as soon as he walked into the door. Phoebe was just like him; she found it hard to forgive people, especially when they've done something horribly wrong, as he had, even, perhaps particularly, when the deed had been done unintentionally.  
Peyton had to put his act together, though. His next meeting would be one of importance; Peyton was going to speak with the leader of the Unnatural, and, perhaps, convince him to fight for them.

"Your mother's brilliant, you know," Byron could hear, "She really amazed me."  
Byron opened his eyes, finding that he was in a similar situation as Mark. Peyton stood in front of him.  
"Oh, and, don't bother trying to read my mind," Peyton said, "We've found a way to succumb that ability, at least for now. Don't worry, though, we'll give it back to you later."  
"You said something about my mother," Byron said, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, "What do you mean?"  
"Your mother," Peyton said, "Was a genius. She found a way to replicate the Unnatural serum and give you your abilities."  
"What?"  
Peyton told Byron about the Leonic invasion and Project Leon. "So," Byron said, "I'm not the Unnatural from Sector Seven?"  
"No," Peyton said, "You're not. At least, not the original one."  
"Then who is?"  
"You know her," Peyton said, "You've watched her die. Twice."  
Byron felt his mind explode. Of course. That was how Veronica was able to survive. She had the ability of Resurrection; she couldn't die. "Then she's out there," Byron said, "Veronica's still alive!"  
Peyton was silent, smiling at Byron. "She might be," Peyton said, "We don't know how long it takes her to come back to life. We've sent a team out to look for her, though; we might be able to bring her here."  
"Will I get to see her?" Byron said.  
Peyton almost smiled with delight. This was exactly what he wanted to hear. Peyton realized, with a shock, that his thoughts sounded like the words of President Xandar.  
"Maybe," said Peyton, "You will, yes, but I have a few specific conditions."  
Byron was quiet. He knew exactly was going on; he was being controlled. He allowed himself to be, though, for the time being, at least.  
"Go on," Byron said.  
Peyton made a gesture towards the door. It opened, and a strange figure walked in. One Byron was all too familiar with. It had been the last thing he had seen before being knocked out by that dart in Sector Two. She stood very tall, tall enough to look Byron in the eye with all three of her pupils, even though he was suspended on the wall.  
"This is Project Zero," Peyton said, "She is my finest creation. We used leftovers from Project Leon to give her all of the Unnatural abilities combined. She possesses Pyrokinesis, Ferrokinesis, Hydrokinesis, and Absorption. She can teleport, see the future, shapeshift, and she cannot die. She obeys my orders without a second thought, and is a silent killer. She was how we were able to track you down and capture you without killing all of you. She was able to fight fire with fire, you could say. We had to wipe her memory in order to give her these powers, and there were some side effects, as you can see, but, in general, I would say that Project Zero was a success."  
"So what do you want from me?" Byron said nervously, intimidated by the immense form of Project Zero, "Do you want my DNA? The stuff my mother used to give me telepathy? You want her to have it?"  
"No," Peyton said, "I do not wish for Project Zero to possess your abilities. What I want is your cooperation. There has been a group of…rebels who, if our sources are correct, will be striking a soft spot in Sector Five soon. They seem to possess similar powers to yours, so they are, obviously, too powerful for us to handle by ourselves."  
"So you want us to go in and fight them off," Byron said, "Why not just use some of that paralyzing serum that you used on Phoebe?"  
"These Unnatural are not a product of Project Leon," Peyton said, "We don't know if they have a similar origin or not. Our technology is based on Project Leon, so, if they were the result of a different Project, it, most likely, wouldn't work. To test it would mean the cost of many lives. It would be easier just to send your team in and fight them."  
"And risk our lives."  
"Your lives are harder to destroy."  
"How does Project Zero come in to this?"  
"Zero will act as your supervisor, your commander. She will not partake directly in combat unless you are failing miserably, and she will relay orders from me to you. If any of you step out of line, or act in any significant way against Sector Zero's authority, she will be authorized to put a stop to you."  
"You're assuming she could."  
"She could, believe me," Peyton said, smirking, "It's what she was created to do. You are dismissed, Project Zero." Zero nodded, turned, and walked out of the door, her movements stiff and mechanical. Peyton began to follow her, but was stopped by Byron's voice.  
"And what happens if I refuse to agree?"  
"Then I guess you won't see Veronica again," Peyton said before exiting the room and leaving Byron in complete darkness again.

Kristine walked through the throne room angrily, almost falling into the throne. She had been unsuccessful in getting the Unnatural. She had been chased off by a squadron of soldiers who had claimed her rightfully earned prize. Even worse was that the soldiers had seen her battle. They knew that she was an enemy of the Sectors if they didn't know anything else about her. She would have to stay underground now, working from the shadows instead of with the commanders of the Nation.  
"Your Majesty," Matthew said, standing next to her, "Do not be upset. We still have the female Unnatural in our possession."  
"Yes," said Kristine, "Have we found out anything else about her yet?"  
"Yes, your Highness," Matthew said, "Her name is Veronica Garrett. She heralds from Sector Seven."  
"Anything else?"  
"When we found her, she was wandering outside of Sector Eight, calling for someone. Her words seemed incoherent at the time, but we recently were able to decipher them."  
"And?"  
"She was calling for one Byron Peters. We believe that he is one of the Unnatural, as well."  
Kristine sat up. This was news she was interested in, an update she could use to her advantage.  
"Scott," Kristine said, a plan formulating in her mind, "Call the War Council."


	21. Chapter Twenty: The Final Battle Begins

Mark awoke, gasping in air. How long had he been asleep? It felt like decades. He was standing upright in a large room. He was part of a circle that seven other people stood in as well. It took Mark a second to figure out who they were, but he eventually recognized them as the other Unnatural. He didn't recognize them at first because they were dressed in strange, unfamiliar uniforms. They all had tight, form-fitting body suits made out of some sort of flexible metal. Byron had a helmet that fit around his head but not his face. A visor extended down over his eyes like a glass shield. A wire stuck out of the back of his helmet but hugged his back and went into his back in various places. Phoebe wore metal gloves with wires curling around them, running up her arms in the back of a helmet similar to Byron's. Gabe didn't have anything on him, at first glance, but the material on his hands and feet seemed to be made out of different material than the rest. Stephen had two small barrels, each big enough for a bullet to fit in, on each arm. Kaytlen wore a large backpack with tubes that snaked around her arms and into her wrists. Kyle had the armor, but, at first glance, nothing else. Mark saw, though, that when he turned his head, a glint of metal shining on the side of his head, interrupting the mass of sloppily-attended to red hair. Mark saw another girl, the one who he assumed to be Sector One's Unnatural. What had Byron called her? Ashley? Instead of the armor being arranged in rows, it was arranged in a hexagonal pattern over her body.  
Mark looked down at his own body and saw tubes running down his arms, much like Kaytlen's, that connected to a backpack.  
In the center of the room was Peyton Burton, standing next to Project Zero.  
"Where are we?" Mark said.  
"On a plane heading to Sector Five," Peyton said, "The other Unnatural have begun their strike."  
Mark vaguely remembered having another conversation with Peyton that involved Byron making the decision to go along with Peyton's plan against some kind of new Unnatural. Nobody objected, so Mark assumed that Peyton had had the conversation with the others, also.  
"If you've taken any time to consider anything at all," Peyton said, "You'll see that you're not dressed in your familiar clothes. While you were asleep, we were able to create Bodysuits that enhance your abilities. For instance, Mark, you will no longer need a lighter to create fire, simply press your thumb against your palm to be given a spark. In addition, your Bodysuit is fireproof, not that you needed that, anyways. Byron, your suit allows you to physically see the thoughts of others through your visor by focusing on the target with your mind. Phoebe, you can control several tons of metallic weight now, as well as see what you can and cannot handle in terms of weight. Stephen, we've given you the ability to carry up to four times your weight through teleportation. We've also given you guns on your wrists. When given a specific combination of finger pressures on your arm, they can transform into different kinds of weapons. They are designed to respond only to your fingerprints. Gabriel, you now do not have to make direct skin contact with a material to absorb it; you may simply walk across a substance or lightly touch it with your fingertip to be encased in a flexible layer of that material. Kaytlen, you have a Bodysuit that is very similar to Mark's; you have a pack full of water on your back. You need only a little bit of it to transform that drop into a tidal wave. We've also given you the ability to withstand hundreds of pounds of pressure, either underwater or not. Kyle, we've given you the ability to not only see what is coming, but to also broadcast the future to those around you. Ashley, in your previous state you had to abide by the law that matter and mass can only be changed, not created or destroyed. We've found a way to bypass this law; you can wholly transform yourself into any living organism that you would like. If you were to become a certain person, you would have every single one of their traits; you would be as heavy as they were, as tall, everything about you would be the same except for your mind. You would still retain your memories and yours only, not theirs. Each of your Bodysuits can be commanded to harden at any moment, making it nearly impenetrable."  
"So you hunted us, imprisoned us, hurt us, even killed us, and now you want us to fight for you?" Kaytlen said, a statement, not so much a question, which she'd wanted Peyton to hear since he had spoken with her in the Secret Service Headquarters. For a moment, Peyton was silent, considering the question. Or, at least, he seemed to be; he knew the answer to the question already.  
"Yes," Peyton said.  
"And why should we fight for you?"  
"Because there will be severe consequences if you do not," Peyton said, "Isn't that correct Byron?" Byron seemed to ignore the question and remain composed, as if it didn't offend or shock him.  
"Wait," said Mark, "Byron, what does he mean?"  
"Oh, he hasn't told you?" Peyton said in mock surprise, "I should leave that to him."  
"I did nothing," Byron said, his voice level and his composure unchanged.  
"I'm sure that's the truth," Peyton said. Mark couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, "You all know what we're here to do, correct?" Mark nodded, as did the Unnatural. Peyton had spoken with each one of them individually over the past…how long had it been, exactly?  
"One more question," Mark said, "How long have we been asleep?" He knew that Peyton had had them drugged into sleeping, but he didn't know for how long.  
"Three weeks," Peyton said.  
Mark was shocked. Three whole weeks? He'd been asleep that whole time? What had they done to him while he was asleep? He hadn't had any dreams while he was sleeping? That was odd.  
"This is no time to talk, though," Peyton said, "We're nearing the drop point. As you know, Sector Five supplies the Sectors with electricity, allowing communication to be possible. This is very important, so try not to damage anything seriously. As soon as you walk out of this plane, your abilities will be reactivated, and you will have full control over them. However, remember that Project Zero will be watching you, so follow my orders and report back to me as soon as possible."  
The plane shook as it landed on the ground. Mark could hear sounds of battle outside. A hatch opened on the far side of the cabin, and the Unnatural walked out and into battle.

Mark was almost blinded by the sudden sunlight. He'd been in complete darkness for three weeks. He blinked a few times and was able to see a little bit of what was going on. He saw tanks wheeling their way towards the center of the Sector. He saw helicopters setting down, soldiers pouring their way out of them in numbers Mark would've thought impossible had he not been on the inside of a helicopter before. He saw civilians running, screaming, towards their homes, some soldiers making a little effort to control them towards safety unsuccessfully. Mark turned around when the plane lifted off and saw something that nearly put him into another coma.  
Caleb Watkins.  
With swords coming out of his wrists.  
Mark's old friend was ducking and weaving through soldiers, slicing and dicing them with the blades that came from his hands.  
Next to him stood somebody else Mark recognized; Nellie Reed, Caleb's girlfriend. She jumped around as nimbly as Caleb, yellow streaks of electricity frying soldiers around her. Next to them were two others that Mark didn't recognize one with four massive arms. The other seemed to be controlling the earth itself, calling plants to life to come to his assistance, opening holes in the ground to swallow his enemies whole.  
Mark wondered if he was dreaming. He was back at the Secret Service, under the effects of whatever knockout drug they had injected into his system.  
His beliefs were rendered incorrect when the Unnatural ran into action against the others and Caleb's foot connected with Mark's face. Mark went down, a sword at his throat.  
"Mark?" he heard Caleb's voice say.  
"Yeah," said Mark, "Get off." Caleb did so hastily, continuing to fight off the soldiers around him.  
"Fight me!" Mark said.  
"What?" said Caleb, confused, "Why?"  
"Because," Mark said, nodding towards Project Zero, who was watching him carefully from behind. Caleb nodded, seeming to understand. He swung his sword at Mark, who ducked.  
"What are you doing here?" Caleb asked, rolling past a fireball.  
"We were captured by Sector Zero," Mark said. He ordered his armor to harden and brought his arm up to block another strike, "They're forcing us to fight. How'd you get those sword…things?" Mark went down, kicking Caleb's feet out from under him.  
"After they tried to make me kill you, they started testing on me for some reason. They got Nellie, and said that they'd hurt her if I didn't cooperate. I just woke up with these things. I can bring them back in, but I don't know how; they're longer than my arms."  
So Sector Zero had made Caleb, Nellie, and those other two Unnatural. "How'd you get out?"  
"Some people rescued me," Caleb said, leaping back up, again kicking Mark in the head.  
"Who?" Another dodge.  
"Hopefully, you'll find out soon."  
"What?"  
Mark ducked under a swing by Caleb. He came back up, hitting Caleb in the back. For whatever reason, the soldiers had stopped coming at them now. Mark was on Caleb's back, a fireball in his hand, looking like he was about to bring it down on Caleb's head. He stopped though, waiting for Caleb to retaliate until he realized that he couldn't. Caleb was pinned to the ground, unable to get up due to Mark's superior size and strength.  
"What are you waiting for?" came a deep, computerized voice from behind Mark. Mark looked behind him and saw the looming figure of Project Zero standing behind him. Mark was surprised; she had actually spoken. "Kill him."  
Mark looked back down at Caleb and up at the other Unnatural. They were all fighting each other, Mark's side obviously winning because of their superior numbers and technology.  
Mark knew who the true enemy was. It wasn't these Unnatural; they were trying to help a cause that they believed in. It was Sector Zero. They were tyrants, no matter how good they looked to most of the people in the Sectors. The government only looked out for its own interests; it didn't care about its people. Mark wouldn't fight for such a government. Not even if he was forced to. He would do whatever it took to liberate himself and those he cared about from the oppression of Sector Zero.  
"No," Mark said, extinguishing the fire in his hands and standing up off of Caleb.  
"Resistance and insubordination will not be tolerated, Mark," Zero said, a fire leaping to life in her own hand.  
"Caleb," Mark said, pressing his thumb to his hand again, a flame traveling into his palm, "You may want to get back."  
"Kill the rebel," Zero said, her voice lowing.  
"He's not a rebel," Mark said, "Caleb is like me. Like Byron, like Phoebe, like you, Zero. He is a monster. He is a freak. He may be different and disliked from and by everyone else, but that does not make him any less a person. He is fighting for survival. All he wants to do, all we wanted to do, is survive. We wanted to live like other humans. All we wanted was peace. And we tried. We tried for peace, but we were stopped. So don't be surprised when we fight back. Caleb is like me. He is Unnatural."  
"You were warned, Mark," Zero said, "Peyton cautioned you against rebelling. You have crossed the line, and will be punished accordingly."  
"Come at me, then."


	22. Chapter Twenty-One: Unnatural

p class="MsoNormal"Mark felt prepared for / That is, until his back / Zero's flame shot at him faster than Mark could comprehend. He wasn't harmed by it, but the fire reached around him and his Bodysuit, crawling across his back until his backpack had been ruptured. A second later, Mark's ears were ringing and he was flying through the air. He landed on dirt, bruising and cutting his skin. He could still feel the pressure of the fire being blasted on his back. He screamed in pain. That was all he could feel in that moment; / Mark suddenly felt light, as if something were being dragged out of him. Something that had been inside of him was being dragged out slowly and excruciatingly, yet he felt peace at the same / He felt / But why? He hadn't done anything, nothing of importance, anyways. He had failed the other Unnatural. He was the only one of them who knew that the other Unnatural weren't enemies. They would fight each other now, not stopping until the other side was defeated. That would cost lives. Mark had failed; he shouldn't feel accomplished, or in the least bit / He had left them behind. Byron, Stephen, / / He saw her face, her beautiful face, the one who had woken him up all those weeks ago, the one he had risked his life for time and time / Mark knew then that he couldn't give up. He couldn't let the very thing that was his strength, the burning sensation of fire, be his weakness. He couldn't let the very thing that made him Unnatural kill / Mark stood. He leaned against the pressure of the flames, supporting himself on his hands and knees. He could feel every point of contact the flames made on him. He felt it penetrating his skin. Normally, that kind of pain would make one weak. But not Mark. To Mark, the searing pain of the fire gave him strength, allowed him to stand, more powerful than ever before. He didn't care that his pack of fumes had exploded; he wouldn't need that or a lighter ever / The fire stopped pressing him as he rose to his full / "Impossible," he heard Zero's emotionless voice / "You can't fight fire with fire, Zero," Mark said. He looked behind Zero and saw all of the other Unnatural, staring at Mark, open-mouthed, shocked at Mark's incredible / "Unnatural," Mark said, "We may be fighting for different causes. We may come from different places. We may have different stories, and we may have different powers. We may appear different in every single way possible, but, in reality, we are not that different from each other. We all have one thing in common, one thing that binds us. It is a wish, a desire. We all want peace. We all want to live like other people, away from harm and / "But we cannot achieve peace. And why is that? It is because we have been hunted down. We have been hurt, each one of us. Someone had prevented us from having peace, and who is that? I'll tell you who it is," Mark pointed at Project / "Them!" he shouted accusingly, "Sector Zero and its minions are those who wish to hurt us. They wish to use us to repel a threat they have already defeated once before. They want to use us as a tool for their victory. Why should we fight for them? All we want is freedom, all we want is peace!br / "I say no longer! No longer shall we fight for those who wish to use us! We won't be controlled by those who would put us in harm's way for their benefit!br / "Our enemies are not each other. They are!" He pointed again at Project Zero, "So let us unite against them! Let us fight not ourselves but our oppressors!" Mark felt fire in his hand and knew that he was ready. He would be the first to fight, and the others would join him, he / How did he know?br / Because Mark was Unnatural, and the others were, too./p 


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two: Zero Unleashed

Mark ignored the fire that blasted against his chest. It barely slowed his mad charge for Project Zero. All he knew was that, in a matter of what seemed like seconds, he was in Zero's face, his fist of fire connecting with her jaw as he yelled something incomprehensible.  
Zero flew back, propelled by the force of Mark's fist. She should have been dead, but she wasn't. She had been given the ability of Resurrection; she couldn't die. At least, it would take a lot to kill her. She was alive again by the time she hit the ground, but was given no rest. She felt something heavy and metal hit her square in the back, a blow so heavy it should have snapped her spine in two. Zero was knocked to the ground, but she got back up with surprising speed, elbowing Gabe's metal jaw so hard that he fell back. Zero felt a bullet enter her chest, but she ignored it. It would fall out soon enough. She ran for Caleb, his swords whirling. Zero absorbed the concrete on the ground and blocked Caleb's swing with one arm. She brought her other arm up in an arc, hitting Caleb in the chest, knocking him down. She felt a hole open up underneath her, but she allowed herself to fall in. As the hole closed, she absorbed the dirt, becoming one with it. She traveled through the ground until she was just underneath the Terrakinetic, that is, the one who controlled the earth, and came out behind him, kicking him in the back. She shook the dirt off and teleported behind the four-armed man without having to see him coming. She kicked his neck, and he went down. Good. Four down, seven more to go. She ducked under a fireball and jumped over a stream of water, bringing her heel down on Byron's helmet. He didn't fall unconscious, but he was stunned for the moment, which allowed Zero to come down and connect her fist with his neck and then his face. She turned around, elbowing Phoebe in the chest. She could see a bullet coming at her head, but she ducked before Stephen could pull the trigger. She teleported to where he was, pushing him from his perch. He recovered, though, teleporting to the ground. Zero teleported down to him, and their intricate dance began. They teleported around each other, trying to strike but missing each time.  
"You are a most formidable opponent," Zero said, ducking under a blow and trying to sweep her leg under Stephen's. He was gone, though, before her heel could connect with his ankle. She teleported behind where Stephen would show up next, but he dodged her, teleporting above her. Zero ducked back so that, when he landed, she was behind him again. He teleported away quickly. "How are you-?" She began to ask, wondering how he could be anticipating her every move so precisely, as if he, too, were a Premonitionist. Then she looked up and understood. Kyle Hunter stood several yards away, guarded by Mark and Kaytlen. And…Stephen? Impossible! She was fighting Stephen now-oh. Zero realized that she was looking at Ashley, who was disguised as Stephen. Suddenly, that Stephen disappeared and appeared next to Zero. Zero teleported away, knowing where to go. She landed there, but Stephen dodged out of the way. Zero knew she could barely handle one Stephen, let alone two, that were helped by Kyle's future broadcasts. She teleported next to Kyle, but had two Stephens on her tail. She had to make these few seconds count. She lifted her hand, but saw fire coming at her. She teleported out of the way, making the fire fly past her and into a building behind them. It exploded, shaking the building. Zero could hear Kyle say, "Oh, that isn't good." The building began to lean, the metal groaning. "Get Phoebe!" Kyle shouted. Looking over, Zero could see that most of the Unnatural had begun to wake up, including Phoebe. Zero, at first, wanted to go and knock her out again to keep her from holding the building up, but she acted against that instinct. She had a better plan.  
Instead of going away from the crashed building, Zero teleported right underneath it. She would bait the Unnatural to her, and that would be their demise.

Phoebe woke with a headache. She wanted to go back to sleep and rest it off, but she couldn't; she saw Mark saying something to her.  
"Phoebe!" he yelled, "We need you out here!" Phoebe stood, rubbing her head. She immediately saw what Mark was referring to. She saw Zero fighting with-was that two Stephens? Above them, a building was falling, threatening to crush them.  
"You have to hold it up," Mark said to her. Phoebe focused on the building, telling her Bodysuit to tell her how much the building weighed.  
It soon became obvious that she was not going to do it.  
"I won't be able to," Phoebe said, looking at the warnings that flashed across her screen in a flurry.  
"You have to."  
"I've never held anything up that heavy before. Even with my Bodysuit, I won't be able to do it."  
"Yes you will," Mark said. Phoebe looked up at him. He had been encouraging before, but not like this. He spoke as if it was a widely known fact that she could do this, that it was obvious that she could hold tons and tons of weight up even for a short while. Phoebe knew she couldn't do it, but she had to. She lifted her arms, feeling every part of the building, every support, every beam, and lifting it upwards. It fought against her, but she managed to slow it nearly to a stop. Phoebe heard heavy footsteps near her and saw Gabe running forwards towards the battle between Zero and Stephen. "Wait!" she heard Mark say, "Gabe, stop!" But Gabe didn't stop. He ran for Zero, absorbing the concrete as he ran.  
"I'll get him!" shouted the four-armed man Phoebe hadn't met yet.  
"No! Wait! Stephen!" Mark called, "Gabe! Get back here!" One of the Stephens teleported back and changed, revealing the true identity of Ashley. Zero still remained locked in combat with the real Stephen. Gabe reached Zero, a man made of solid concrete. He jumped for Zero, who dodged out of the way. Gabe stumbled onto the ground. Zero touched his back, not violently, but gently. The metal on Gabe's Bodysuit traveled up her body until she was made of it. Her arm came up and down, connecting with Gabe's shoulder. He screamed, his arm falling off at the joint.  
Phoebe's grip on the building slipped. The building fell further down. She managed to grab ahold of it again, but just barely. Zero brought her hand up again, this time going for Gabe's head. But, just as it came down, Stephen appeared in front of Gabe, fingers flying across his arm until the largest gun possible was resting on his forearm. He let the missile fly, and the following explosion caused Phoebe to lose her grip on the building until it landed on the ground.

"He was my friend," Oscar Baker said, "Gabe was."  
Byron had been speaking to Oscar for the past few minutes, seeing what the Terrakinetic knew.  
"You knew Gabriel?"  
"Yeah, why?"  
"That's interesting. Apparently, Caleb and Nellie both knew Mark. Sector Zero was trying to create Unnatural that we knew. But why?"  
"My people are very ambitious, aren't they?" Byron heard the voice and knew exactly who it was. He stood and faced the man they had met in Sector Four.  
"You're here," Byron said.  
"But of course!" the man said, "Where else would I be?"  
"Who is this?" Oscar said.  
"An acquaintance of ours," Byron answered, "You said your men are ambitious. Who are your men? Who are you?"  
"I'm surprised, Byron! You, with all of your brilliant intellect, know not my identity, yet?"  
"No, I haven't," Byron said. He felt frustrated, all of a sudden.  
"Think, Byron. Put all of the pieces together, and you will understand!"  
"You caused the military occupation of Sector Seven," Byron said, thinking of what this man had done in their past together, "And you were able to teleport both us and yourself to my home without us knowing it. You must be very powerful, able to influence and have control over people."  
"I'm flattered!"  
"You said your people were very ambitious, and the only people able to create Unnatural exist in the Secret Service laboratories. You have to have control over both the military and the Secret Service in order to be able to do those things."  
"Go on!" The man said, almost jumping up and down with excitement, "You're so close!"  
"There's only one person in the world that could have so much power," Byron said, nearly falling over from the shock of the realization, "You're President Xandar."  
"It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Byron!" Xandar said.  
"But you're-"  
"A Leonic? That's not entirely true, but that's a story for another time."  
"Then what are you?"  
"I am an Unnatural," the man said, grinning, "In fact, I am the very first Unnatural. Again, though, that's a story for another time."  
"You're an Unnatural?"  
"That is what I said, is it not?"  
It all made sense to Byron now. How this man, who claimed to be President Xandar, was so seemingly powerful.  
"But, if you're the President," Byron said slowly, "Why do you want us to leave? I thought you wanted us to stay so that we would defend you from the Leonics?"  
"I have my reasons for wanting you to leave," Xandar said.  
"That's exactly what you said last time."  
"And it's exactly what I said this time."  
"How long have you been here?" Byron said.  
"I've been here for a long while," said Xandar, "A long while, indeed."  
"And yet you didn't help us when we needed you?"  
"I will admit, I am quite a sucker for a good show."  
"You were watching when Stephen died? When the building came down?" Byron was yelling, "And you didn't help us?"  
"I did not, you are correct."  
"You, who are so powerful?"  
"I will say that that cup of chocolate was good. Really added to the effect of the conflict."  
Byron yelled in rage and lept at Xandar. He had barely left the ground when he froze, his mouth open in a silent scream.  
"I wouldn't try that, Byron," Xandar said, "I am the most powerful person in this country. I can do several things you can only dream of."  
Byron called out in his mind Mark!  
He could feel Mark's attention swaying to Byron. Byron saw Mark throw a ball of fire at Xandar. The fire came closer and closer, but, as soon as it reached Xandar, dissolved into nothing as if doused with water. Xandar held eye contact with Byron the whole time.  
"I'm not entirely devoted to not helping you, though," Xandar said, "So I'll give you an assist." Byron suddenly fell to the ground.  
"In a few moments," Xandar said, "You will be under attack again. I might help you, but I could choose to not do so."  
"What do you-"  
Byron was interrupted by a crash. Metal groaned, and a huge pillar of fire exploded from the building, incinerating a large hole in it. The fire went out as soon as it had begun, and, out of the ashes, rose a large figure that seemed only half familiar.  
It was Project Zero, but she had changed. All three of her eyes glowed bright blue so that they were blinding to look into. Her hair had been replaced by a bonfire that whipped and cracked over her head. She was encased in a skintight layer of metal. In her hand she held something that seemed like an oddly shaped rock.  
Then she spoke. Her voice was lower than before. It resonated and echoed across Sector Five's center, a deafening yet dull roar.  
"Surprised?"


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three: First Unnatural

"Looks like it's time for Act Two," Xandar said, "Perhaps I'll help you this time. I am, after all, much more powerful than this beast."  
"That's debatable," Byron said, knowing first-hand what Zero was capable of.  
"No, it's not," Xandar said, a mad assurance in his voice, as if what he was saying were a fact and nothing could change that. "I authorized Zero's creation; I know what she can do."  
"Then what is she doing now?" Byron said in panic.  
"This is her emergency mode, of sorts. If Zero takes enough damage, the DNA we gave her reacts in a certain way that it changes her molecular makeup."  
Byron stared in shock at Xandar. Never before had he considered that this man- thing -could speak intelligibly  
"If Zero survived, that means that Gabe could have as well!" Oscar said next to Byron, who almost jumped. He had nearly forgotten the Terrakinetic was standing next to him.  
"Oh, he did survive," Zero growled, "But not for long."  
Zero raised her hand and brought it down, throwing the misshapen rock to the ground. Byron saw Gabriel's head before it hit the ground and shattered. Oscar did, as well.  
Oscar screamed, and a large vine sprouted from the earth. It rocketed up, entwining itself around Zero's leg. The vine yanked itself down, dragging Zero to earth. The vine anchored itself, not allowing Zero to move. Oscar ran at her, a large thorn materializing in his hand. Suddenly, the vine caught on fire and crumbled from Zero's leg. She ducked under Oscar's blow and came back up behind him, kicking him to the ground. She raised her fist, which burned bright and hot, preparing to crush Oscar with immense force.  
"Wait!" called a voice. Byron looked next to him, and saw Xandar. However, something was different about him, also. His face wasn't covered in a sick, mad grin. His voice wasn't high like it always seemed to be. Instead, his mouth was straight, his voice level, like a normal person's. "Would you face one weaker than you," Xandar said, "Or would you have a fair fight."  
Zero turned from Oscar and faced Xandar. The President didn't waver under the intense glow of her eyes.  
"Fool," hummed Zero's voice, "I am the most powerful person on earth. You bring no challenge to me."  
"Oh, I would beg to differ."  
"It's your funeral."  
Suddenly, Zero was standing where Xandar was, except he wasn't there. "What?" said Zero in confusion.  
"You see, dearest," the voice of Xandar said, "I may not be physically strong," Xandar appeared a little ways away, "I might not have any amazing powers like these other Unnatural," Zero teleported to him, but he was gone before she could reach him, "On the outside, I may be nothing but a weakling," He was somewhere else now, "I may be a failure," He dodged Zero again, "But I am good at one thing."  
"Obviously it's running," Zero said.  
"No, my dear," said Xandar, "It's planning."  
"Planning? For what?"  
"I have one goal and one goal only, which I am unwilling to share at the moment. However, know this: my power, my Unnatural ability, is that whatever needs to happen to satisfy that plan," Xandar suddenly appeared behind Zero with a long, metal bar, "It will happen." He brought the bar down on Zero's head, and she crumpled in unconsciousness. Xandar dropped the bar, a surprised look on his face.  
"What just happened?" Kaytlen said. The Unnatural began to gather around Byron.  
"Nothing," Xandar said, turning to face them, "Now, as I said, you must leave the country. You can run out of Sector Five, but head east. To the west is-" Suddenly, something behind Xandar exploded, sending him flying.  
"You are a fool, Xandar," Zero's voice hummed, "One cannot kill me so easily."  
In response, Xandar simply muttered, "That hurt," and fell asleep.

Zero stood to full height, only to be knocked back down again by a bolt of electricity that sent her body convulsing. The tremors passed soon, though, and Zero stood back up. She knew who had fired the bolt; Nellie Reed, one of the Unnatural whose abilities Zero did not possess.  
Zero teleported behind the Unnatural and watched them scatter from her presence. She wouldn't have to worry about any annoying teleporters anymore. She had taken care of that one. Or, at least, he had taken care of himself. It had been a stupid move, trying to blow Zero up when she was less than two feet away from him. He had stalled her, she guessed, but it was no use; his friends hadn't managed to escape quickly enough. Now most of them would die, and the survivors would go back to the Secret Service with her.  
Zero ran at Mark, who threw fireballs at her. She easily disintegrated them. Once Zero reached Mark, she threw her fist into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. She hit the back of his head when he keeled over, throwing his face into her knee. He cried out in pain, standing straight up. Zero jumped around a punch so that she stood behind him. She kicked his back, sending him onto the ground. She kicked again, but, this time, there was an audible crack as something broke in Mark's back. Zero lifted her foot to kick again and kill him, but stopped. Something prevented her from doing it, but she didn't know what; her vision faded, and, suddenly, she was at a house. No, she was behind the house, kneeling in the grass. This place seemed familiar. She felt much younger, maybe twelve years old. She was playing with two other girls that looked a few years younger than her. They looked like they were twins. She looked up and saw Mark sitting on the porch of the house, watching them. Zero didn't know how she heard a car door slam; she couldn't hear anything. The gate in the fence opened, and in stepped Peyton Burton. She saw Mark jump up and run next to Peyton. Peyton ignored Mark and pointed at Zero. Two men came through the gate and made Zero stand up. She resisted, not knowing what was happening. She heard Mark yelling. Zero looked back and saw another man in a soldier's uniform stick a needle into Mark's arm. He crumpled, and the men carried Zero into a car. The door slammed shut, and Zero opened her eyes.  
And then, Zero remembered.  
She remembered her whole life up until this point. She saw Mark throwing fireballs at her. She tried to stop them, but found that she couldn't. Her Pyrokinesis wouldn't work. A fireball hit her, sending her flying. She got back up, unharmed. Her vision from her third eye blurred; she couldn't see straight.  
"Wait!" she pleaded, but none of them would. She saw something block the sky. It was too late when she realized that it was a giant tidal wave, made by Kaytlen Williams. It crashed down on Zero, who couldn't control it because, for whatever reason, somehow, she had lost her Hydrokinesis. However, Zero still couldn't die. She tossed and turned in the wave, enough for somebody to be crushed several times over. She lived on, though, and, soon, the wave evaporated, leaving Zero coughing for air. She couldn't see out of her third eye, now; she was blind there.  
"Stop!" she said, but they didn't. She heard someone running behind her, and Zero, instinctively, kicked backwards, tripping her assailant. She stood up, looking into the barrel of a pistol. The next moment, she felt a bus hit her head, and she fell backwards, the bullet falling out of her head as she refused to die. Zero kicked low again, using the momentum to jump up. She was standing above Phoebe. "I'm not going to hurt you," Zero said, stepping away from Phoebe. Her voice had returned to normal.  
"You're too late for that," Phoebe said, and, suddenly, Zero felt something pierce the back of her neck. She gasped in pain, instinctively reaching behind her to grab the person who hung off her back. She brought the person up and over her shoulder, bringing him down onto the ground. She saw the figure of Kyle Hunter come down, his spine cracking as he hit the ground. Phoebe screamed, Kyle's body twisting next to her. Zero realized that she couldn't breathe. She fell down, a knife going through her throat. She was glad that she couldn't reach back and rip it out; she didn't want to kill anyone else. Zero collapsed, blood soaking her neck. Her remaining two eyes began to see less and less. She saw Phoebe stand up.  
She remembered Mark. And that was good. She actually remembered something besides slavery by the Secret Service.  
She remembered, and she was happy.

"Byron!" Byron turned around when he heard his name. He gasped when he saw who had said it. He ran and knelt beside the dying body of Kyle.  
"Byron," he said, "You need to know something."  
"Save it for later, Kyle," Byron said, sliding his arms under the boy's body. Kyle groaned it pain when he did so. Byron stopped.  
"You need-" he said slowly, face contorted in pain, as if every words sent a jolt of excruciating pain through his body. "You need to keep Ashley safe."  
"What?"  
"Promise me, Byron!"  
"Ok, but why? What's so special about Ashley?" Byron had the feeling that he already knew the answer.  
"If she dies, you might not all be able to get through this."  
"What? Why? What's going to happen, Kyle?"  
"Terrible things, Byron, far worse than what happened today. I can't tell you now, just promise me you'll keep her safe."  
Byron nodded, blinking the tears out of his eyes. "I'll do it, Kyle," he said as the boy closed his eyes.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four: Plan B

The team in the Secret Service Headquarters sat, tense, watching Peyton, looking for signs of disappointment or an upcoming outburst, in which case, they would evacuate the room with all possible speed. Instead, though, he just stood, leaning against a desk, staring at the computer screen that was displayed across the wall. After several minutes, Peyton finally said something.  
"What just happened?"  
The team sat in silence, afraid to answer Peyton's question.  
"I'll tell you what happened," he said, beginning to pace the room, "Project Zero failed. Our perfect, foolproof weapon that you created, failed. And why?" He looked around the room, this time wanting an answer.  
"It remembered," one brave scientist managed to mutter.  
"It remembered!" Peyton shouted, slamming his fist against a desk, making the whole team jump almost out of their seats, "It remembered its previous life. We programmed it to not do so! This is an unacceptable failure!" He was silent and still for a few seconds, letting the tension rise again. "How are we going to get the Unnatural now?" he said, although it was a rhetorical question.  
"We're going to have to use Plan B," another scientist said.  
"Exactly," Peyton said, "Plan B. And do you know who will get the credit for Plan B?"  
"Thomas Garek."  
"Precisely. Thomas Garek, the inferior, sniveling idiot who thinks he has the right to be the governor of the new Sector."  
"That's right, Burton" came a voice from across the room, in the shadows, "Thomas Garek."  
A chill ran down Peyton's spine. The President was there. "President," Peyton said, "How long have you been here?"  
"Oh, not long," Xandar said, walking out from the corner, "I had an errand to run. However, I am not ignorant of your failure to use Project Zero successfully. I am a forgiving man, though. I will be willing to forgive you, but just this once, Burton. You will work with Garek to capture the Unnatural, but, if they slip through your hands again, I will hold you responsible."  
"I understand, sir."  
"And, if you fail," Xandar said, an evil grin crossing his face, "I will send you back home."

"Mark!" Phoebe cried. She knelt down next to him. His face contorted with pain. Zero had beaten him up pretty badly.  
"He'll be fine," said Byron, "We have to get out of here, though."  
"What about Kyle?" Ashley said, who looked on the verge of tears.  
"He's gone," Byron said sadly, shaking his head.  
"Before Zero attacked him," Caleb said, "I tried to tell him something. Each of us was in Sector One, but we were broken out by somebody. They took us to their base, and we decided to help them. We can go back to them, they won't try to hurt us."  
"Peyton will be looking for us," Byron said, "That sounds like our best option. Which way do we go?"  
"Out of Sector Five and a few miles straight west," Caleb said.  
"West? Isn't that where Xandar told us not to go?" said Kaytlen, "Where is Xandar, anyways?" She was right; the President was nowhere to be seen.  
"It's our best option," Byron repeated, "I'll get Mark."

When Mark awoke, blinding light filled his eyes. He tried to blink it out, but it persisted until his eyes got used to it. He stood, seeing that he was standing on a white floor. It expanded in all directions for as far as Mark could see. The sky was white and went up infinitely. One of the first things Mark noticed was that he was not alone. It the room with him stood four figures. He recognized all of them; they were his friends. Gabe, Kyle, Stephen, and Veronica stood in front of Mark.  
"Veronica?" Mark said. She didn't seem to hear him, "How are you all here? You're all dead!"  
Then Mark realized that he might be dead, too. This could be the afterlife; just floating around in an endless room, unable to communicate with anybody else for all of eternity.  
But it was not to be.

Mark woke up in a van. He was seated in between Phoebe and Byron, both of which shouted at Kaytlen, who was at the driver's seat. Caleb, Nellie, and Oscar sat in the row behind Mark, and Ashley sat in the passenger's seat. Mark wondered what they were yelling at, but, when he looked behind the van, realized why they were in a van going easily illegal speeds.  
Behind them was a wall of rocks and dirt pursuing them like an avalanche.  
"Hurry up!" Byron shouted.  
"I'm going as fast as I can!" Kaytlen yelled back.  
"You're going the speed limit?!"  
"No! What do you think I am, o-"  
"Phoebe, can't you just pick this van up?" Oscar yelled up.  
"Can't you just stop this landslide?" Phoebe yelled back.  
"Watch out! There's a-" Ashley yelled.  
Suddenly, the van lurched forward, tumbling over the edge of a cliff. The group screamed, except for Mark, who remained calm. He knew he wasn't really in a van, and that this wasn't really reality.  
The bottom of the cliff suddenly became visible, growing closer and closer with every passing second. Mark ignored the screams in his ear, watching as they fell down, down, down.

Mark woke up to a stabbing pain in his back. He groaned as he opened his eyes. He was lying on his back, in an open field this time. The sun was high in the sky, signaling the middle of the day. He was pretty sure that, this time, he wasn't dreaming. He was wide awake, his back and legs in pain from the beating he took from Zero. "He's awake," came a voice that Mark recognized as Byron. Mark heard a gasp and heard footsteps coming his way. Mark tried to sit up but couldn't; his back hurt too much. He saw Phoebe above him for just one second, but she came in close. She came closer and closer, and, soon, their lips were touching.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five: Sacrifice

Byron watched Phoebe and Mark. They were lying down next to each other, laughing and talking. Byron was very aware of Ashley sitting next to him.  
"I'm so sorry," Byron said to Ashley.  
"What do you mean?" Ashley said even though it was obvious she was distraught; her eyes were red from crying.  
"You could be like them right now," Byron said, "If it weren't for me."  
"I don't know what y-"  
"Don't try to fool me, Ashley, I knew of your attraction towards Kyle."  
Ashley was silent, stunned by the statement. "I-I didn't really know him, so…it's okay," she stuttered.  
"No, it's not," Byron said, "It's all my fault!"  
"No, it's not, Byron, Kyle did what he had to do."  
"But it is," Byron said, standing, "I did this! I killed Stephen and Gabriel and Kyle!"  
"What do you mean?" said Ashley, a confused and frightened look in her eye.  
"I was the one who agreed to us fighting," Byron said, "Peyton told me that they had found Veronica and that she was Unnatural so she was alive and he said that I would see her again if we fought for them so I agreed! I was selfish, and I killed them all!" Byron kneeled down, head in his hands, tears flowing from his eyes.  
The other Unnatural looked up at Byron. "You did what?" Phoebe whispered.  
"Go ahead," Byron said, looking back up, "Kill me. It's what I deserve. I've done too many horrible, selfish things. I deserve to die."  
The whole group was silent. "We should kill you," Mark said from his prone position, "Because you coming and gathering us was selfish. Because you jumping out of a helicopter with Stephen was selfish. Because you leading the charge into Sector Six was selfish. Because you making sure that Phoebe was healed at the price of not one but two people you loved was selfish. Byron, you may have done some bad things. You may have been impulsive, but we all are at some times. You may have been selfish, but you were also selfless."  
"We'll find Veronica," Phoebe said, "Someday."

Kristine wanted to destroy something. She was the furthest behind in this race to control the Unnatural. Then only piece she had in the game was Veronica Garrett, and she would only be useful if Kristine knew where Byron Peters was, which she didn't. Kristine knew only that they had been in Sector Five and they were no longer there.  
Maybe things would still work out. Kristine had received word of a new base being built several miles away from where she was, yet not very far. They called it Sector Nine, and, apparently, Sector Zero was going to use it to trap the Unnatural.  
Kristine would keep watch on Sector Nine. She would watch it until she saw something happen, some weakness in Sector Nine's defenses, and then she would strike. She would take the Unnatural as her own weapon, and use them to destroy the Sectors, one by one until her victory was ensured.

"We've got them," Randy Vargas said to Thomas Garek in the Sector Nine Control Center. Sector Nine was located entirely underground, as it was supposed to be a hidden resistance.  
"Excellent," Thomas said, "Were there any major casualties?"  
"Kyle Hunter, Stephen Jaxon, Gabriel Ramsey, and Timothy Zang"  
"Who's Timothy?"  
"The one with four arms, sir."  
"Oh, yes, I remember. Send a plane out to get them. Soldiers from Sector One should be arriving at their location soon, I want their only option to be coming to us."

"They aren't far from here," Caleb said, "If we go now, we should be able to reach the base by morning."  
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Phoebe said, "We're all pretty exhausted from today. We need rest."  
"But Peyton will be after us soon."  
"Yeah, but we don't want to be tired if we have to-"  
"An explosion shook the ground. Phoebe looked backwards, towards where she had heard the explosion.  
About half a mile out were lines of tanks. The air was filled with helicopters, and soldiers marched in countless lines.  
This was the biggest force they had faced yet.  
"We have to go," Caleb said, "Right now."  
Phoebe and Byron ran over to Mark, helping him up. "I can take care of them," Mark said.  
"Not alone," Phoebe said, "We're going to a place that will protect us, but we have to hurry."  
"No, I got this; you go with them," Mark said, "I'll only slow you down."  
"Mark, you're coming with us," Phoebe said, "No time for sacrifice."  
Mark shook himself from their grasp. He nearly fell over from the pain in his back. It was all he could do just to stand. A fire grew in his hands. "I can take care of them by myself," Mark said, "Leave, now. I'll catch up later."  
"Mark, shut up and come on."  
"Byron, please," Mark said, "You understand sacrifice, don't you?"  
"I may understand sacrifice, yes," Byron said, "But not from you. Mark, you were the first to answer my call and you've been by my side ever since. We've had our differences in the past, but I've come to know you as a brother. I can't let you stay here and face the might of Sector Zero by yourself."  
Mark was silent, but he knew what he had to do. He took the fire and threw it at the ground, creating a ring of fire around him.  
"You said you loved be like a brother, Byron," Mark said, "Think of how much. I love Phoebe far more than you do me, so please, take her and go."  
"Don't you dare," said Phoebe, her voice cracking. Byron looked at her, tears in his eyes.  
"See you, Mark," Byron said. He grabbed Phoebe by the waist and picked her up. She screamed and wailed her fists on his back, but Byron began to run and didn't stop until her had caught up with the others.  
Mark turned to face the army. He was well within firing range, but they didn't shoot. Mark knew why; they wanted to capture him again. But he wouldn't let them. If they really wanted him, he would have to be dead. Mark threw fire forward, sending it towards the army. This fire was different than other fireballs Mark had thrown, though. This fire burned hot and furious, incinerating and consuming all that it came across. It never stayed in one place for long; it hit one tank or soldier and moved to the next in a matter of nanoseconds. The army couldn't combat it; it was much too powerful. So they decided to go after the source.  
He knew how it happened. He knew why it happened. And, most importantly, he knew that it had happened.  
And now he stood, surrounded by an inferno, devastating the most powerful army on the world.  
And he was brought down by a single bullet.  
The bullet hit his chest. He fell backwards, but didn't feel any pain. In fact, the only thing he felt was a sense of accomplishment.  
Mark had done it. He'd saved what was left of his group. He'd saved the people he loved. They were going to a better place now, one that would protect them, one that would shelter them. They would be kept safe from the evil tyranny that was Sector Zero.  
Mark had done it, and he was content. He could die here, outside of Sector Five, in peace. Phoebe was going to a better place. Byron was going to a better place. Caleb and Nellie were going to a better place, and that was all that mattered.  
Watching the devastation through the flames, Mark closed his eyes. He heard the hum of an engine nearby, and the sound of some sort of machine. He didn't care, though. Mark was done.  
He took a breath.  
And he never took another.


	27. Epilogue: Air

p class="MsoNormal" / Mark gasped as he felt air enter his lungs. He opened his eyes, looking around franticly, studying his / He was suspended on a wall, much like he had been in the Secret Service. He was in a small, square room, just like he had been in the Secret Service. And, in the center of the ceiling was a single, dim light just like that of the room in the Secret / Panic surged through Mark. Had they found him? Was he back in the Secret Service? Had they found a way to bring him back to life? Is this what he was condemned to now; a life of constant torture knowing that Phoebe was far away from him? Or was this the afterlife? Was this hell? Reliving the moments when he was most afraid, tortured constantly with his own memories?br / A door swung open on the wall opposite to / Just like it had in the Secret / A single man stepped slowly into the / Just like Peyton had in the Secret / What was happening? How was it happening? The man stepped inside, the door closing behind / Just like it had it the-br / Stop it, Mark told himself, This man obviously isn't / And he wasn't. This man looked younger. His head was uncovered, revealing well-kept-to brown hair. He wore jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket; he looked too casual to be in the Secret / While Mark knew this thought should've comforted him, for some reason, it only frightened him / The man stopped just in front of Mark and looked at him, studying him. He was silent for several minutes. Mark jumped when he finally / "Mark Konners," the man said, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person. My name is Thomas Garek. Welcome to Sector Nine."/p 


End file.
